


Stealing Home

by lily rose (annabeth)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abortion, Drug Use, Explicit Sexual Content, Extreme Underage, F/F, F/M, Incest, M/M, Pregnancy, Sex Abuse, Sibling Incest, Twincest, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex, and one 21 yr old who is a pedophile, jsyk, one brief mention of cutting, these twins are fourteen almost fifteen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 13:35:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 87,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14379735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth/pseuds/lily%20rose
Summary: Evan and Mackenzie share a terrible secret--one that could cost them their friends, their family, their very freedom if someone should find out.  How far will they go to protect it when someone finds out?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I began this original novel for NaNo in November 2009, and now, for Camp NaNo in April 2018, I've finally finished it.
> 
> There are a lot of triggering things in this book, including the sexual abuse of a minor (perpetrated by an older child who is also still a minor), the incestuous love between twins, and a lot of reckless behavior. The twins begin the book at fourteen years old and engage in sexual activity just as they are fourteen-going-on-fifteen. There is very sexually explicit material here, also depicting fifteen-year-olds.
> 
> Also, there is genuine pedophilia perpetrated in this by a minor (only appears once) character, even though the girl (Evan) seems to want it, he's aroused by her age (and he's 21). Please be careful if this might upset you.
> 
> Please see the end notes if you want spoilers as to other potentially triggering warnings.

_The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together._

**\- All's Well that Ends Well, Act IV, sc 3**

 

Mackenzie Stuart walked in the back door, slammed it shut with a resounding thud, and stowed his baseball bat and glove in the hall closet. It was late summer, and the season of careless ballgames was coming to an end. Not that it mattered much to him. It'd been two years, eight months, six days, and thirteen hours since the last time he'd seen his sister. His _twin_ sister. And that—well, that was making him itch in a way that his stepmother would probably complain was "puberty" or "all in his head." Then again, Mackenzie wasn't all that fond of his stepmother, and whenever his father asked him why, the only real answer he could give was: _no reason_.

Of course the truth was far more insidious. Mainly, that his stepmother didn't want him to have anything to do with Evan. God forbid he ever mention her name—he got sent to his room. Once, when his father was away on business, she'd even dared to send him to bed early without letting him finish dinner—and all because he'd slipped up and called one of his classmates Evan. Then, at the last minute, just before school let out for the summer, his entire family had packed up and moved—him, his dad, his stepmother, and his stepbrother Cory. All because Shirley thought it would be a good idea to start over fresh—take Mackenzie's mind off the divorce, even though it had been final years ago. What she really meant was: _take his mind off Evan_.

Besides which, she wanted Cory to go to school someplace where he'd "get a really good education," as if the high school back where Mackenzie used to live hadn't been good enough. But it would have been good enough for Evan, Mackenzie knew that for certain. She never would have complained, although she might have given Mackenzie one of those looks that she knew—and he knew, also—that only he could interpret. Shirley had seen them interact only once, before his mother and sister moved away, but Mackenzie knew it had disconcerted her profoundly. It was part of the reason she refused to let him talk about Evan.

But she didn't _understand_. Mackenzie needed Evan like he needed air. She was his _twin_. She was his other half. Without her, it felt as if his left leg were missing. Like walking suddenly required twice as much effort and was much more uneven than it used to be. And if it sounded melodramatic, well _fuck_ them. Mackenzie scowled into the hallway mirror as he passed by it on the way to his room, taking an inordinate amount of pleasure in the curse word, even if he hadn't said it aloud.

It was still early afternoon, and his dad was probably on the golf course, while Shirley was probably still at work at the hospital. She thought because she was a psychiatrist that worked in the Emergency Room that she knew everything there was to know about psychology. Once, Mackenzie had asked her why the encounter with him and his sister had unnerved her so much. She'd refused to answer, saying only: _it's a matter for adult consideration._

As if that made any sense. Mackenzie stomped into his room, shut the door firmly, wished once more that his stupid wicked witch of a stepmother would let him have a lock on it—he was almost fifteen, for crying out loud!—and flopped backwards onto his bed, wincing when a video game controller dug hard into his back. He laid there for a long moment just catching his breath, still sweaty from the strenuous game, and then rolled over, fumbled around underneath his mattress until he could pull out his calendar. He'd nicked it from school just before they moved, and every day he slashed a definitive X through it to remind him. To keep track of how long since he'd last seen her, and to make sure he never forgot her.

Just before she'd gotten into the car almost three years ago, she'd looked at him with tears almost rising to the surface of her eyes, and she'd brushed her fingers across her mouth, then waved. Turned her head away. But Mackenzie knew without having to ask her that when the time came, they'd find each other again. They'd go to college, get away from their parents, and he'd transfer if he had to, to be near her. They'd always been close—they were twins, why not?—but they'd also been each other's best friends and most trustworthy confidantes since the time they could talk. Even before, actually: Evan always knew exactly what Mackenzie was thinking. He never had to open his mouth around her to _tell_ her anything.

Mackenzie put his customary mark through Friday, shoved it back under the mattress—and he knew it was safe there, because his father or Shirley wouldn't want to catch him with porn—and laid back against the pillows again. If he closed his eyes and thought really hard, he could still remember the exact shape of Evan's face, or the way she limped slightly from having broken her foot when she was eleven, even the unruly curls they shared. Not that he really needed to picture her—all he needed to do was look in a mirror. But that didn't change anything. It wasn't the same. He wanted to remember _Evan_ , not stare at his own reflection. His reflection was a lonely thing. Even though sometimes, if he squinted and tilted his head, he could pretend that his mirror-double was really his sister staring back at him, deep down he knew it wasn't truth.

Mackenzie wanted the truth back. He wanted his sister back. Throwing one arm over his eyes, he began to count again, count all the remaining days until he could go away to school. To the earliest he might see her again. It could never be soon enough.

He drifted off thinking about eyes with patterns that matched his exactly, and it didn't occur to him to think of it as weird—why should it?

:::

Evan Raleigh Banks was fourteen years old, and she was a terror, and she knew it. She cultivated it. It pleased her to be so rambunctious, so wild, that her stepfather could never decide what to do with her. He tried—she knew he did—to be a good father to her. But he couldn't understand her longing. Her yearning—the desperate need, desire, to see her brother again. It had been forever. It felt like she hadn't seen him in a longer period of time than she'd been alive. And Mackenzie was everything.

He was the only person who understood her. The only person who never laughed at her unless she deserved it, and the only person _allowed_ to laugh at her. He was her elder by seventeen minutes, and that was an important distinction. Because Mackenzie never let anything happen to her. Or, at least, he hadn't until their parents had suddenly separated without warning, Laurel Banks packing a few suitcases and shoving Evan into their station wagon, explaining that they were going to stay in a motel for a few weeks, _just until we get on our feet, baby_. But she hadn't packed for Mackenzie.

Evan had spent the first week asking about him, but Laurel wouldn't talk about anything but the exciting adventures they were going to have. _We might move to Vegas_ , she'd said back then. _We can go anywhere, sweetheart. Name one place you wanna go._

Evan had said, _back home_ , and that was the last time her mother asked.

They stayed in town for awhile, though every time Evan saw Mackenzie somewhere Laurel rushed them away from him, and pretty soon, Evan had to resort to sending messages to her friend Jess to give to her brother Lonnie to pass along to his girlfriend Monica, who sat next to Mackenzie in English class. Laurel had already pulled Evan from that school and enrolled her in one across town. Luckily it didn't occur to her mother to think about banning Evan from seeing her friends as well.

And that lasted awhile. Once or twice she'd even snuck out after lights-out and met up with Mackenzie in the downtown park, where he'd hugged her fiercely and promised her that everything would be all right. But she couldn't do it very often, and the last time she had seen him in that park, he'd been crying—and Mackenzie would rather have his fingernails torn out than cry.

_Dad's met someone_ , he'd whispered through tears making his voice thick and gooey. And in halting words he'd told her about Shirley, about how Shirley had gotten her claws into their father and warped his mind. That was the last time Evan saw Mackenzie alone.

The next time, she and her mom were loading up the station wagon again when their father's sports car had pulled into the motel parking lot. The young woman with the long hair—blonde on top, and purple at the ends—stayed behind by the car while Evan's father walked up to them. And Mackenzie—precious, beautiful Mackenzie had been there, allowed to give her one last hug, as their mother explained that she was moving them to another state.

To this day, it still didn't make any sense to Evan. What had she done? What had _they_ done? For some reason their parents wanted them apart. Kept them apart. Held them at a distance so great there was no conceivable way for them to even communicate with each other—there was no long-distance on their phone.

Laurel kept moving them, too. She'd park them in a motel for a few weeks, then pile everything into the car and take off again. She never said why.

Until in Greenefield, Ohio, she'd met George Banks. And she'd become Mrs. George Raleigh Banks within only a few weeks, moving them into his gigantic house, introducing Evan to his grown children. Because George was _old_. He had to be at least fifty. His youngest kid was already twenty and no longer lived at home. But Laurel swore she was happy, and kept assuring Evan that she'd be happy soon enough, too.

Though George did his best, he didn't know what to make of Evan. Because by fourteen, she'd already had sex with two different boys, made out with a girl in the front foyer hoping he'd see her, and started smoking pot, mostly so she'd smell like it when she got home from school. She wore her skirts too short and fishnet stockings with rips in them, and black lipstick. She'd pierced her navel when her mother and George had stayed overnight at a friend's house.

George had grounded her, of course. But all that did was make her even crazier to sneak out. And she would—she did. She slept with the same boy a few more times. She stole his cigarettes and made him teach her how to smoke them. And she never—not once—told the seventeen-year-old she was fucking that she was under fifteen. Not that he seemed to care—he was usually too wasted to notice what was really going on. Sometimes he could barely get it up—she suspected that those times, the only reason he succeeded was because he _was_ still seventeen, after all.

But none of that—not one trivial little thing—could take her mind away from Mackenzie. From the way he'd looked the last time she'd seen him. Or the way their father's girlfriend had given them a funny look; what did she know, anyway? They hadn't done anything wrong. In fact, Evan had been the perfect daughter up until that point. Back then she never would have imagined smoking pot, or cigarettes, or having sex when she didn't think she was emotionally ready.

But by Greenefield, she didn't care about that anymore. It sounded good one night, drunk off her ass and possibly on drugs—she still couldn't be sure someone hadn't slipped her something—to let the high school boy take her upstairs and shove her panties to the side, rip her open on his fucking dick and take her virginity. And yeah, maybe she could've made an excuse for herself for that time.

But the second time—different boy then—she'd been totally willing; dressed in a mini-skirt with no panties and wearing a silver sparkly halter top to a party she wasn't supposed to be invited to, she'd seen him across the smoky, crowded room and sauntered over, drawing them both into the shadows and lifting her skirt up over her thighs.

It had actually been good, that time, even though she didn't really think she was still particularly ready. But without Mackenzie, nothing had seemed to matter anymore.

Evan brushed her teeth and stared into the mirror. Looking back at her was someone who could _almost_ be her twin. Sometimes she forgot, reached out—and then remembered that it was only glass. That there would be no warm flesh to meet her hands the way there used to be when she was younger and frightened from a nightmare. Or frightened by the storms that used to batter the outside of their house. Mackenzie was never afraid.

It was already past midnight, and Evan had spent the last six hours making out with Jo-Anne, which was a funny thing, considering. Jo-Anne kept trying to get Evan to take her clothes off—Jo-Anne's, that is—and suck on her tits, or learn to give head to a girl, or fuck knew what, but Evan, well, she wasn't quite _there_ yet. Mainly because she wasn't at all certain she even liked girls, but once she'd kissed Jo-Anne, she'd basically made herself complicit to Jo-Anne's bisexuality, and then she didn't—no matter how much she tormented her stepfather—quite have it in her to tell Jo-Anne that she didn't want to make out anymore.

Spitting the toothpaste into the sink, Evan thought about how tomorrow Laurel wanted to take her clothes shopping for school. She imagined her mother's cheerful, almost Alvin-and-the-Chipmunks voice and winced. Her mother was so excited— _just think, honey, you're starting_ high school!—but Evan couldn't muster up any enthusiasm. What was there to look forward to? A bigger pool of boys to choose from, more drugs, more parties, being in Jo-Anne's school? None of that really meant anything.

Evan slipped the negligee over her head—the only type of thing she wore to bed, mostly to make George uncomfortable—and examined herself in the mirror one last time. She was passingly pretty, with hazel eyes that often looked a mixture of blue and green and black hair that curled in natural ringlets down over her shoulders. Her breasts were still too small—they barely poked out the front of the negligee—but she had really sexy thighs, and she knew it. Funny that her breasts seemed swollen, lately, though, she thought as she adjusted herself in the nightgown. Then again, what little she'd gleaned about puberty taught her that sometimes they did that when they were still growing, which gave her hope.

Blowing herself a kiss and imagining that, wherever he was, Mackenzie knew she had done it, she clicked off the bathroom light and padded down the long hallway to her room. She climbed under the thick comforter and closed her eyes.

But it was a long time before she could stop thinking about Mackenzie long enough to fall asleep.

:::

"Really, Mackenzie, the least you can do is eat the food I put in front of you. I spent a long time cooking a nice meal for the family, and all you can do is ungratefully stare at your plate? I'm telling you, if your father were here, he'd be just as disappointed."

Shirley continued to berate him, but he couldn't make himself eat it. It was becoming a problem, he knew that; he was going to have to eat more than a few crackers here and there eventually—especially if he wanted to be good enough to make the baseball team when he started high school in a couple of weeks. But in spite of that, or maybe it was to spite Shirley, he sat down to dinner every night and pushed at his food. His father was still at the office, and he had stayed late for the past two weeks, which meant that Mackenzie smushed his fork around in his food but ate barely a bite. It was true, though, that if his father had been around he wouldn't've put up with that nonsense.

The thought made him unaccountably nervous. Shirley was bound to tell him anyway.

"Fine, just snub my cooking then," Shirley said. Mackenzie could feel the instant her attention left him, even though he wasn't looking up; it was like a heat lamp had suddenly been switched off.

"Hey, Mom, can you please pass more of the corn to me?" Cory was, of course, perfect. Actually, Mackenzie didn't mind him that much—Cory wasn't a bad kid, and he was nice enough to Mackenzie. He even sometimes slipped into Mackenzie's room after dark and whispered about how much his mom annoyed _him_ , too. But whenever he and Shirley were in the same room, Mackenzie felt like a bug that had to be squished at all costs, and Cory always, always did whatever she said. He went out of his way to please her.

Not that Mackenzie would ever tell anyone—besides, who did he have to tell?—but the reason Cory was so much of a kiss-ass was simple: Cory liked boys. If he was perfect in every other way, if he did everything she wanted and conformed to her every ideal, maybe his mother would never find out the truth. Mackenzie knew that Cory didn't know he knew that about his stepbrother. It wasn't a very well-kept secret: Cory, when he came into Mackenzie's room, often wound up hitting on him unconsciously. So yeah, it hadn't been that difficult to figure out.

But Shirley would never accept anything less than ultimate perfection from her son. She would never be able to accept the idea that Cory didn't like girls—she'd think it was an unforgivable flaw, and they both knew it. Because even if Cory hadn't said a word to Mackenzie, and even if Cory couldn't know that Mackenzie had figured it out, Cory had to know his mother would never be able to live with the idea that her _perfect, model_ son was interested in guys.

"...and tomorrow I think we should just take a drive up there, see what it's like," Shirley was saying, and all of sudden Mackenzie could feel that heat lamp shining back on the top of his head. He looked up quickly, and Shirley was looking at him, her eyebrow raised, her hair falling out of its clip and the purple ends still looking completely ridiculous on someone old enough to be the mother of a high-schooler.

"What?" he said eloquently, even though he knew it would get him a less than favourable reaction from Shirley; sure enough, she huffed out an annoyed sigh.

"For heaven's sake, Mackenzie Stuart, the very _least_ you could do is pay attention when I'm speaking to you. I mean, I can even understand that you might not be hungry—that's why I'm even having this conversation with you—but I'm trying to tell you something _important_ , something for your _own good_ , and you're off daydreaming." There was a long, very heavy pause; the type that makes a person feel like all of the air in the room has suddenly gone solid and is pressing down on that person. "If it's about your _sister_ ," and she made a moue of distaste as the word left her lips, "then it's all the more reason you should see someone."

Mackenzie cast a glance at Cory, who was shoveling peas into his mouth, the tips of his ears red, clearly trying not to witness Mackenzie's embarrassment at being castigated by Shirley. Still, it might've been nice if Cory could've given him a look, a smile, _something_. He looked back over at Shirley, who had her eyebrow still raised.

"See someone?" he asked, feeling like he was quite literally the stupidest person on the planet. Like maybe he'd woken up that morning with a couple of crayons missing from the box. What the hell was she talking about? "See who?"

"A therapist, Mackenzie. I know a good one from the hospital. It's obvious to me that you're suffering from some type of depression, and I want you to get the help that you need. I want you to have the best treatment out there, Mackenzie. You come home from your baseball games and go into your room, alone, and sleep for hours until dinner. And then, at dinner, you don't eat so much as a bite of what I've prepared, and even though it's very frustrating for me, I know that if you're terribly unhappy, then it isn't a surprise that you might not feel hungry."

Mackenzie jumped up from the table. "I'm not _depressed_!" he shouted. "There's nothing _wrong_ with me. I sleep because I'm tired, and I don't eat this _shit_ because that's what it is, inedible crap that no sane person would want in their mouth."

Cory winced at Mackenzie's words, and stopped eating, his fork clattering down against his plate. Okay, so maybe that had taken it a little far—Mackenzie really did like Cory, and he didn't want to make him feel bad, but his _mother_ —God, his mother. He couldn't fucking stand her. She was always meddling—she wanted to know what was wrong with him? _Fine_.

"Yeah, I miss Evan, you delusional bitch," Mackenzie screamed, feeling out-of-control, wild, for the first time like he had _something_ he could say out loud, instead of bottling it all up, holding it inside of himself until he thought he'd _explode_ —and okay, maybe he just had. "She's the best damn thing that ever happened to me, and you— _you_ won't even let me say her name. I'm not going to _see someone_. I'm fine, I just want my sister back!"

"Sit down," Shirley said softly, and even though she had to be furious, she didn't yell back at him. "You and Evan had a very unhealthy attachment, Mackenzie, and that's why you were separated. And I had hoped that if I didn't encourage more moping over her, that perhaps you might move on. In any event, this is not up for debate. Especially after that appalling display, you _will_ be going to see this doctor. And while you are there, she will help you learn to cope with missing your sister. She will help you to move on from that place, close that chapter of your life."

Mackenzie stared at her, eyes wide, barely able to register what she was saying. He sat down. He placed both hands flat on the table and met her eyes, even though he hated to do it, even though it made his skin feel too tight.

"You won't be seeing her again," Shirley said in that same soft, artificially calm voice. "You need to learn to deal with that, to live your life, not to live in the past, forever fixated on someone you won't be with again."

"I didn't—" Mackenzie stopped and held his breath. "I didn't have an _unhealthy attachment_ to Evan," he said evenly, forcing the fury back down into his gut. "She is my twin sister. We're _close_ , that's all."

But even as he said the words, he wondered. He'd always just assumed that he and Evan were close like that because they were twins, that it was normal. But—but—God, what if Shirley were right?

"This is no longer up for discussion, Mackenzie. Later this week you will drive up with me to meet Dr. Forbes, and you will talk to her, and you will learn more healthy ways of living your life. Now, if you're not going to eat that, you can go to your room, and think about what it means to be _respectful_ of people who are trying to help you."

Mackenzie got up from the table, turned away from her, and walked slowly to his room. When he got inside, he shut the door and pulled all of the blankets off of his bed, stripped it right down to the plastic mattress cover, and then unzipped that, reached inside and tugged out the worn little scrap of photo paper.

Evan: her beautiful eyes, her dark curling hair, her mismatched smile that mirrored his. Her crooked bottom front tooth. He ran his fingers over the image as he had so often done; the photo was faded from the oil in his skin. The only real difference between them was that his hair was blonde, curling down over his collar. Staring at her, though, missing her so fiercely it was like being pierced with an arrow right through his heart, he looked objectively and realized that even though every time he looked at her he saw himself, he wasn't sure that anyone else who saw them together would make the connection.

They were fraternal twins, and Mackenzie had been conditioned long ago to see Evan even when he looked in a mirror; he didn't know if anyone else, looking at them standing side-by-side, would see that they were twins. Maybe because of his blond hair. Or maybe because _his_ teeth were perfect and his lips were a little too full—he suspected that Cory found that attractive about him. He had well-defined cheekbones and classic lines to his face.

He rubbed his fingers over Evan's likeness again. She had a little plumpness to her still, although the photo was three years old, which could've been why. She had a nose that flared out, pointed at the tip, and it was an adorable nose, if not a very common one. He let himself think about her, wondered why he cared what she looked like beyond the fact that she was his missing piece, the person who could complete him.

He heard footsteps, and all at once he knew that if Shirley saw the picture, she'd make sure it was destroyed. He shoved it back into the zippered cover and quickly dumped his blankets on his bed, just in time for the knock on his door, followed by a timid,

"Mackenzie? Can I come in?"

"Yeah," he said, and sat down on the bed to make it look as if he hadn't just torn all of his bedding off of it. The door opened slowly, and Cory crept inside.

"My mom's wrong," he said slowly, closing the door and leaning against it. Mackenzie let himself really _look_ at Cory, and he was kind of surprised by what he saw. His stepbrother was pretty. Like, not just good-looking, but _pretty_. It was hard to understand how Shirley didn't notice it. Cory was pretty enough to be a model, pretty enough in a way that actually kind of screamed his sexual orientation to everyone, yet Shirley didn't see it?

"She—look, Evan's an important part of your life, and—"

Quite abruptly, Mackenzie didn't want to talk about Evan. He would never stop thinking about her, but he wasn't ready to have this conversation, and he knew of only one surefire way to halt it.

"Come here," he interrupted, and Cory stopped speaking, walked with deliberate care to the bed. "Sit down."

Cory sat. Mackenzie leaned forward, placed his thumb over Cory's soft, pouting lower lip. 

"I wanna kiss you," Mackenzie said, and it was only partly a lie. But it was a gamble, and he was so certain that Cory would—

And Cory did. 

"Then do it," his stepbrother said, and closed his eyes. Mackenzie slowly leaned forward, and just before he kissed those lips on display, he blew on them. Watched Cory shiver and tremble slightly in anticipation.

Mackenzie closed the last breath of distance and touched their lips together. It didn't seem at all weird to be kissing a boy, not when everything else in his life was so screwed up.

It lasted only seconds, and when Cory pulled away first, Mackenzie kept his eyes closed for a few more seconds, remembering the feel of Cory's lips against his, and then—just before he opened them—he realized he was thinking about Evan.

And that was downright weird.

:::

"And how does that make you feel?" Dr. Forbes asked, and Mackenzie kept trying not to look at her, because something about her cheekbones reminded him of Evan, plus she was fairly young and pretty, and Mackenzie knew he wasn't sitting in this stupid chair just to perv on his brand spanking new therapist.

"She makes me crazy," he said reluctantly. "Like I can't do anything right. And—Evan is so important to me. Why can't she understand that?" Distantly, Mackenzie wondered if Dr. Forbes would call up his stepmother the instant the session was over, report every single negative thing he might have said—suddenly cold all over, he slouched down even more, clamping his lips shut against the barrage of words he wanted to say: every grievance he had against her, chief among them the desire to see Evan and the way that Shirley demeaned what he and Evan had.

"Let's talk about Evan," Dr. Forbes said. "Let's explore why you miss her so much, why you are so fixated on bringing her back into your life."

"She's my sister! Why shouldn't I want her back? I haven't seen her in— _ages_ —so long, and my mother, either. Not that my mother is a piece of cake, though. She's flaky. She probably doesn't even remember to give Evan dinner every night."

"Your stepmom puts food on the table every night, that's what you told me. But yet you don't eat it. Why?"

"Why should I? There's no deep meaning to that," Mackenzie protested. "I'm just not hungry."

"What do you do in the afternoons, especially during the summer, when you don't have any homework to do?"

"I play baseball down at the park. I'm gonna be on the team when I start high school, and I gotta keep in shape." Mackenzie answered the question, but he found it strange that Dr. Forbes had changed the subject from Evan. Hadn't she said she wanted to discuss Evan? It was pretty much the first time in forever that anyone had allowed him to even say Evan's name without getting chastised.

"So, your mother," Dr. Forbes prodded. "You don't like your mother, either?"

"It's _her_ fault I can't see Evan," Mackenzie spat. "She just upped and grabbed Evan and some of their things and left one day. You think that's right? I spent twelve years with my sister—we were best friends. She was everything to me, and my _fucking_ mother took all that away from me."

"You're harboring a lot of anger, Mackenzie," Dr. Forbes said quietly. "All right, I said we could talk about Evan. This is important, Mackenzie. Your parents had a good reason to separate, even if you can't understand the reason yourself. And they wanted you and Evan apart for a reason as well. You need to come to terms with that. I think the best way to go about that is to find out why your parents would want you to be apart."

"How the fuck should I know?" Mackenzie took great pleasure in the fact that he could curse— _really_ curse—without repercussion. Even if the whole thing was a bunch of bull, there were perks to sitting in the chair and talking to her.

"Talk to me about Evan, Mackenzie. What was she like?"

"She's perfect," Mackenzie replied. "She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, and she's so smart. And—this probably won't make any sense to you, but she's the only person I could ever really talk to. She _got_ me. If I said something that sounded stupid to everyone else, Evan didn't think it was stupid. I don't know. She's my other half."

Dr. Forbes looked at him for a long time, brow slightly furrowed, as if she was trying to work something out in her head. "Mackenzie, do you realize you talk about your sister like you might talk about a crush you have?"

"That's not it at all! God, don't twist what I say!" Mackenzie leapt out of the chair, started to pace around the spacious office. "I don't have a fucking _crush_ on my sister, for fuck's sake. I just love her. Why shouldn't I love her? She's mine. I gotta be there for her. I gotta protect her, and _they_ took that away from me. You don't understand, Dr. Forbes—I have to see her again."

"Call me Lily," Dr. Forbes said gently. "I think we're really getting somewhere now. You're very possessive of Evan, Mackenzie; but you need to understand that she's her own person, that she should take care of herself. You need to let it go. You can love Evan, Mackenzie, without being clingy."

"It's not _clinging_!" Mackenzie shouted. "She's not even here! I don't think it's unreasonable to want to see my _twin sister_ again."

"Okay, try to calm down, Mackenzie. I'm going to be straight with you. Your stepmom saw you and Evan together and she said that you have no concept of personal space. That you would be just as likely to cling to Evan until everything—and everyone—else paled around you. Shirley doesn't know a lot about the relationship, of course; she only saw you two together once. But she's talked to your dad, Mackenzie, and he says the same. You can't cling to Evan forever. If you did, how would you form healthy relationships with anyone else?"

Mackenzie was barely listening, arrested by the idea of it being just him and Evan, of the two of them being allowed to be together, to spend time alone like they used to be allowed to do.

"You know, it's funny. Up until I was ten, Evan and I shared a room. And then out of the blue I wasn't allowed to share a room with her anymore."

"And what did you make of that?"

"I thought it was crazy; stupid. Why shouldn't we still share a room? We share the same DNA, perfectly matched. God, I miss her." Mackenzie knew that he was off on some tangent, but remembering suddenly Cory's kiss, the way his lips had felt, and the way he'd thought about Evan after—fuck. This counselor was putting whacked out ideas in his head. It had to be that. Why would he—? But he thought back to what Dr. Forbes had said about a crush, and stopped pacing, stood stock-still, looked at her. "I kissed my stepbrother," he said, and knew that he was deflecting, trying to change the subject to something less volatile.

"Cory?" Dr. Forbes looked surprised. "Are you gay, Mackenzie?"

"If I were, why would I tell you?" He felt obstinate. "You might tell the witch."

"Mackenzie, that's unkind and unfair. Your stepmom is not the wicked witch of the west. She's just trying to do what's best for you. You don't have to answer my question, Mackenzie, but I will tell you now that anything you say in this room will stay here. It's like being in Vegas: what happens here, stays here."

Mackenzie smiled a little crookedly. Dr. Forbes was apparently young enough to have a sense of humour. "I'm not gay," he said finally. "I don't even think I like guys. But Cory was pretty and I know he likes me, so I just thought—"

"You shouldn't play with the emotions of others," Dr. Forbes said softly. She had a very soothing voice, and when she lowered it, the cadence reminded him a little of Evan.

"I wasn't," Mackenzie said. "I do like him. And the kiss—it felt nice. It was my first kiss."

"Your first kiss, and you picked a boy? And your stepbrother? Doesn't that strike you as strange?"

"No!" Mackenzie flicked his eyes to the clock. "My time's up," he said, relief bubbling up inside him. He could go home now, lie down on his bed, and think about how Evan's photo was just a few layers of fabric and plastic beneath him.

"You're right, Mackenzie, the fifty minutes is up. But Shirley asked me to make an exception for you. If you feel like we're getting somewhere, she's paid for a double-session."

"No," Mackenzie said firmly. "I'm done talking. This is a waste of time—I don't feel any different."

Dr. Forbes scrawled something on the back of a little card. "All right, here you go, Mackenzie. This is the date and time of your next appointment; please try to keep it. Next time, we're going to explore your depression—I don't think you're as in touch with your feelings as you should be."

"That your _official_ diagnosis?" Mackenzie said sarcastically. He grabbed his jacket and stuffed his arms into it. "I'm not depressed. Good-bye, Dr. Forbes."

He walked out of the office, but he couldn't help but think about Evan. When he got back into the waiting room, Shirley was perched in a chair, a magazine held loosely in her hands. She smiled up at him when the door thumped closed and she saw who it was. The smile smacked of fakeness all over, like Shirley really cared whether he felt better or not.

The thing was, if anyone really wanted him to feel better, then they would take him to see Evan. It was that simple.

"How did it go, honey?" she asked, and Mackenzie flinched at the endearment.

"It was fine. I want to go home."

"All right," she said, and picked up her purse off the floor, set the magazine back down on the table. "You want me to make you something when we get home?"

"I don't," Mackenzie said, and ignored the pang of hunger that sliced through him. He didn't need any of that; he needed Evan, and that was that.

"Well, I hope you were nice to Dr. Forbes," Shirley commented as they walked to the car.

She spent the entire drive back to the house grilling him about his session, but Mackenzie had learned to be monosyllabic from the best of them—his dad—so he gave short answers that actually didn't answer anything at all.

:::

Okay, Evan had to admit she was a bitch. She had seen Jo-Anne across the food court at the mall and she'd deliberately turned her face, and walked as fast as she could away from the area, because she didn't want to talk to Jo-Anne again. She didn't want to really see the look on her friend's face when Evan told her that kissing her had been a ploy to fuck with her stepfather.

It was a shame, really. George was such a nice guy, a fucking pushover. He was soft-spoken and always thought everything through before he did or said anything, but Evan couldn't fucking _stand_ it. Why did he have to be so fucking _good?_

She shoved through the door of the club, just after midnight, dressed in blue metallic pleather, her eyes sparkling with glitter, the tops of her breasts on display almost to her nipples and dusted with sparkly powder, and her fake ID in her hand, fingernails long and painted to match her outfit.

The bouncer nodded her in, even though Evan knew she looked even younger than she was, but her skirt was short enough and her halter tiny enough to get her past just about any guy—they all wanted to fuck her, and she knew it.

Back home, Evan knew George had to be worrying sick. Her mother would've gone to bed, thrown her hands up and washed her hands of the situation, but George would never be irresponsible, not like her mother would. George would wait up all night if he had to, and that bugged the shit out of Evan. Why should he care? Why should he even want her? He wasn't her dad—and yet, Evan knew she didn't miss her dad as much as she missed Mackenzie.

Mackenzie's name throbbed through her mind day and night, a constant soundtrack to everything she did—and the reason why she did the things she did.

The music was so loud it reverberated through her body, the drumbeat fixing in rhythm with her heart, and even as she began to dance, moving her body to the music, Mackenzie's name began to sync to the music too, and Evan closed her eyes, imagined that the music flowing through her was the same as her brother, imagined that he was just out of reach, ready to dance closer so that she could lift her hand and touch the smooth skin of his cheek.

She kept her eyes closed, sashaying and swaying in place, dancing with Mackenzie even if only in her mind, and she forced herself not to think about how tired George would be in the morning, at work, if he hadn't slept all night because of her.

"Can I join you?" said a low masculine voice, and Evan's eyes flew open. The guy in front of her had to be at least twenty-one, maybe older; he was much too old for her, but that kind of made her want him all the more.

"Why dance when we can go someplace more private?" she said, and slid her eyes up and down his gorgeous, lean physique. He was tall, like Mackenzie, and his eyes were softly reflective like Mackenzie's, and that made her feel all warm inside, her belly whirling with emotion.

"You got it," he said, and Evan knew that Mackenzie would never fuck some random girl off the dance floor; that he'd certainly never give in that easily, but the guy still reminded her, faintly, so she took his hand, raised it to her lips, and ran her tongue in and around one of his fingers. He smiled a little bashfully, but there was a leer mixed in, and she folded their hands together, led him to the darkest corner of the club.

She closed her eyes, felt the guy's kisses cover her mouth, and even though she liked it, liked the way his mouth felt, liked the play of his hands over her body, she held herself emotionally distant, thinking about Mackenzie and the next time she might see him, whether he'd be able to tell by looking at her that she'd had sex.

Whether he'd mind—would he be angry with her? Disappointed? Would he want to track down every guy she'd slept with and beat them up?

Mackenzie was always like a placid lake: he was slow to erupt in anger, but once he did, it could be a frightening thing to see.

Evan opened her mouth and took the kiss someplace filthy, dirtier than most girls would with a guy they didn't know, and even though she knew George would ground her again, none of that mattered. She was a pro at sneaking out, and he'd never managed to keep her on a leash yet.

By the time she stumbled out of the club at three a.m., she was drunk to the point that she tottered in her chunky heels, and her stomach had soured hours ago, and that was even before she'd had that much to drink—she couldn't figure out why.

Her body was strangely achy and her feet felt swollen in the shoes, but she figured it was from drinking too much liquor and not enough water and resigned herself to a hangover the next morning.

She fumbled her key in the lock after walking home, too smashed to be grateful that no one had accosted her on the way back to George's giant house, and the light flicked on inside the house.

But Evan never had the chance to be anxious about the coming lecture, because she went down to her knees, arm clenched around her middle, and puked all over George's flowers.

:::

The porch light was still on; Evan could see it from her position on the couch, knees drawn up to her chest, eyes still fuzzy from alcohol, which made the jaundiced glow of the porch light look kind of like a halo around the front door. That wasn't really the worst of it, though: not the stomachache that persisted, or the headache that beat time on drums at her temples, or the way everything seemed kind of glossy and out-of-focus. No, the worst thing was that for once, George hadn't been waiting up for her.

Her mom was dressed in lingerie a lot like the kind Evan favored, a perfect mirror image of her daughter, her knees drawn up in the chair, her blonde hair mussed and sticking out at all angles. Her eyes were puffy, which made Evan perversely glad—even though her own eyes were probably just as puffy.

"I just don't understand," her mom said, and sniffled a little. "I've done the best I could, Evan; why would you do this to yourself?"

Evan glared mutinously at her mother, wishing she could just refuse to talk, but she knew that even if Laurel eventually went to bed, George would just come out and take her place, and they would do that until Evan finally cracked. God, she _hated_ her family. Every last one of them except, of course, for Mackenzie—her one ally in everything.

Her stomach twisted again, and she covered her mouth and swallowed against the onrush of bile. Tossing her cookies all over George's flowers wasn't going to endear her to anyone. Not that she cared. Like she _wanted_ George to like her.

"Evan, please. It's four in the morning and you've drunk yourself sick. Why won't you let us help you?" Her mom sniffled again, swiped her hand across her nose. Evan shrunk further against the couch. If she even parted her lips she'd probably spew all over George's expensive Aubusson carpet.

And then, as things were wont to do, it got worse. George came down the hallway, wearing striped pajamas, and he scrubbed a hand over his face.

"Do you have any idea what this does to your mother, Evan? What it does to the both of us? We're your parents, Evan. It's our job to look out for you, and you are making that very difficult."

Evan wanted to cry, which was odd because usually by this point she was ready to scream and swear and claw at the walls, not start bawling. Fuck. Goddamn George for always being so reasonable, even when he was clearly angry, even when she was so obviously in the wrong. But George just kept trying—reaching out to her, like maybe someday she'd reach back.

She gulped down her guts and opened her mouth. "Maybe if you'd let me see Mackenzie—!" she screamed, not caring if she woke the neighborhood. "I have no fucking clue why you'd want me to be this miserable."

"Is that was this is about?" Laurel looked pained, like Mackenzie's very name caused her acid indigestion. "You're acting like a hoyden because of your brother?"

"You're totally missing the point!" Evan clutched her belly. God, it _hurt_. "You did something incomprehensible. Don't you even miss him? He's your son; don't you even _care_?"

"Evan Raleigh Banks, that is enough out of you. You are not to leave this house until school starts, and then for the first two weeks you are to come straight home." George might be a pushover sometimes, but he was also firm when he thought it necessary. And they all knew that Evan's mother would never discipline her—or to be more accurate, would never actually stick to whatever she said.

It was actually fairly likely that the first time that George was down at his clinic, and Laurel was the bored trophy housewife, she'd ask Evan to go shopping with her. Still...

"You're grounding me for a _month_?" Her mouth dropped open, which wasn't really a good idea. She reeled her jaw closed again. Through gritted teeth, she managed, "Fine, then I'm going to bed."

"Not so fast," Laurel said, and got to her feet. "You don't look well, honey, do you want me to get you—"

Evan would've laughed if she didn't feel so damn sick. Her mom? Actually offering to take care of her? Yeah, right.

"I just need some sleep," she eked out. Her mom looked instantly relieved, like she was glad she didn't have to be too close to Evan while she must be awfully green and looking like she might hurl any second.

"Evan," George said softly. "You need to be careful. I hope you know—" He stopped for a minute. He turned to Laurel, shrugged one shoulder, and said in a hiss Evan wasn't meant to hear, "When's her birthday? She's gonna be fifteen, right? Have you already given her The Talk?"

"Of course I did!" Laurel said indignantly, but Evan knew she hadn't. Her mother had meant to—she'd sat Evan down at one of the chipped Formica tabletops in an anonymous motel room somewhere, opened her mouth and said: _This is very important, Evan. I want you to listen closely; see sometimes when a girl likes a boy—_

But then her cell phone had rung, and she'd picked it up with a giant smile—probably some person she felt she needed to charm to keep from getting kicked out early, or some bill she'd forgotten to pay—and the conversation had been dropped. And her mom hadn't even remembered that she was going to say anything at all.

Evan had figured it all out for herself, mostly while under the influence. George looked back at her, standing now in the middle of the room, George and Laurel the united front against her, and wished she could just curl up in her bed and sleep for the next month. Maybe being grounded that long wouldn't be such a bad thing, the way she felt now. After brushing the taste out of her mouth, though.

"All right, Evan, you can go to sleep now. But I'd like to talk to you come morning, if you feel up to it."

She nodded carefully, trying not to exacerbate the feeling in her head, and began the long trek down the hall to the stairs up to her room.

:::

Evan woke up to a cloud-filled, rainy sky. It looked like lace through the window, and she went to sit up and almost let out an undignified scream as her head pounded, her stomach turned over like she was on the Tilt-A-Whirl, and she realized that George was sitting in her desk chair, looking supremely uncomfortable with his legs crossed and his large form crammed into the wooden chair.

"Good morning, Evan—" he started to say, and then she was bolting for the bathroom down the hall from her room, throwing the door open wide and falling to her knees in front of the porcelain god just in time to blow chunks. Which, yeah, _gross_.

It took a minute, but then warm hands were on her neck, drawing back her hair, holding it out of the way as she proceeded to empty her stomach and dehydrate herself. She knelt there for a long time, but George didn't speak and he didn't move away. He didn't complain when she just laid her head against the seat, breath going in and out of her lungs in great gasps; he didn't criticize or berate her.

Which made her angry. Why should _he_ do this for her? Where was her mother? Why did her mother think it was okay to shirk her parental responsibilities simply because she'd married a man who'd already raised three children?

When she could sit up again, she croaked, "What are you doing that for?"

"You'd rather have vomit in your hair?" he asked placidly, and the way he said it—God, it made her want exactly whatever _he_ didn't want. She jerked out of his grasp, felt some of the hair separate from her head, and clambored to her feet.

"You have _no idea_ what I want," she snarled, even though it hurt her raw throat. "You're just a washed-up old man who thinks he knows something about me. Well, I've got news for you: you don't know _anything_ about me. I bet you didn't know that Mackenzie and I slept in the same bed for the first six years of our lives. That he's _everything_ to me, just the same way that you're nothing. Less than nothing. I hate you. I don't care about you at all. I just want you to _go away_ and stop trying to fix everything for my mother!"

"It doesn't strike you as odd, Evan, that you're so worried about your mother's mistakes you don't seem able to notice your own?"

"Get the fuck away from me and stop trying to fucking psychoanalyze me!" She kicked out with her bare foot, connected solidly with his shin, but the bone made her tender foot hurt more than the kick probably hurt him. He caught her foot in mid-air, rubbed down the arch as if he knew she'd bruised it, and then let it go when she glared at him.

"I'm no psychiatrist, Evan. I'm not trying to do that. But I do know some things about you. I know, for instance, that you're behaving this way because somewhere, subconsciously maybe, you think that if you screw up enough I'll get sick of you and throw you both out. That your mother will be forced to go back to your dad, and you'll see your brother again. I don't know all of the details, Evan, all I understand is that this is much healthier for you. You will learn to cope without him—and sooner or later you'll do it without alcohol. And sex."

"You don't know I've had sex," she shot back instantly, but she could feel her scalp prickle. What _did_ he know?

"I'm telling you the truth, Evan. I'm not going to lie to you. It's possible that when you're older you'll be allowed to reunite with your brother. But I can guarantee that _will not happen_ if you don't learn, first, to differentiate from him, to become your own person."

"You've taken too many psychology classes," Evan said nastily. "But that doesn't mean you have a flying fuck of what you're talking about."

"Evan, when was the last time you had your period?"

"Excuse me?" Shock lanced through her. How could he—what would he—why would he even ask her that?

"Was it last month? Or the month before?"

Something stopped her from lashing out again. Maybe it was the fact that she hadn't really been thinking about it, but she—fuck. She hadn't had one in at least two months. And she was still so nauseous. No.

"I think you're pregnant, Evan. I know you probably feel that nothing like that would ever happen to you, but that's what I wanted to talk to you about. I can help you."

"Yeah?" She sat down on the edge of the bathtub, and George slid over a little so that she'd have room. He was very careful not to touch her, not now. Maybe she had some kind of sickness—pregnancy disease. The worst STD you could get.

"I can take you to a clinic run by one of my friends, and she can help you. And then we'll get you a thorough exam, and some birth control pills. And some counseling."

"Fuck. I don't need counseling."

"You do, Evan. You need a lot more help than I am able to give, short of referring you to people who can help you."

"I'm not pregnant." She bit her thumbnail, turned her thumb around and around in her mouth. "I'm not any of those things you say I am."

"Evan, please—"

"How do you even know what I want? You think I want—" but she stopped, felt the words wither up on her tongue. _What would Mackenzie think? He'd be so disappointed in her. He'd never want her back if she was pregnant._

"That clinic is just to give you options, Evan, you don't need—"

"I want the abortion." She got to her feet, felt her world spinning out from under her feet. George managed to catch her, though, before she pitched head-first onto the floor. "I want this fucking thing out of me, and then I want—I want to be allowed out of the house."

"I will pay for the abortion, of course, Evan." George stroked his fingers through her hair once, then pulled away, steadied her and stepped back. "But the punishment stands. You will learn to behave. You will learn to channel your energy and anger into an appropriate outlet. Maybe a sport?"

"Just get this fucking thing out of me." Evan stormed past him, trying not to think about it, because the idea of a baby was just making her even more sick.

"I'll make the appointment," George called after her, and she went into her room and shut the door, gently this time. The anger she felt—this time it wasn't at her stepfather. _How could she have been so_ stupid?

:::

Mackenzie sidled into the room, stowed himself in the same seat as last week, as far from the doctor as he could get. Shirley was forcing him to come back, even though he'd threatened not to eat for a week. Even though he'd even let himself cry a little, talking of nothing but Evan for three days straight. Shirley hadn't punished him, though. She'd just made sure that he was in her car in time for the appointment, which fucking sucked because he was missing one of the last games of the summer.

"It's nice to see you again, Mackenzie," Dr. Forbes said with a smile inherent in her tone, even though her face was smooth and without expression. "I'm pleased that you decided to come back and talk to me some more."

"Like I had a choice," Mackenzie grumbled. "The witch made me show up. I'm missing a game."

"I'm very sorry to hear that, but while I think activities are good for you, I also think you need to keep these appointments. I promise this will be of use to you if you just give it a chance."

"I'd rather eat glass," he said darkly.

"Mackenzie, listen. It's only been a week and already you're looking thinner. You have to start eating more. How can you stay in shape for your baseball practices if you don't eat?"

"I do eat. I'm fine." He settled further into the chair and crossed his arms. Last time he'd been stupid and opened his mouth. This week he wasn't going to tell this quack a damn thing.

"All right, let's talk about your depression. Do you ever feel like hurting yourself, Mackenzie?"

"God!" Mackenzie kicked his feet out, unable to restrain himself. "No! No, I don't. I don't feel like hurting myself, I eat when I'm hungry, the only thing— _only_ thing—wrong with me is that I need my sister back."

"That's not healthy, Mackenzie. Your stepmom tells me that you spend a lot of time sleeping. People do that when they're trying to avoid unpleasant emotions, Mackenzie. Emotions like sadness. Or extreme sadness, like depression. If you're depressed, that's all right. It's nothing to be ashamed of. You just need to learn new techniques for coping."

Mackenzie slouched down. He stared at her from under his eyelids, still reluctantly admiring of the fact that she was pretty, and she was nice enough—he didn't want to be there, but she never seemed to lose patience with him. Not like everyone else did.

Studying her, he thought about his dad. His father hadn't really paid attention to him for weeks now. He said good-morning and good-night, and sometimes he asked how Mackenzie felt about starting high school. But he usually spent all of his time working, and that left Mackenzie and Shirley, mostly. Cory was too timid around his mother to be worthy of note—unless he was creeping into Mackenzie's room to whisper secrets.

Or to kiss him.

"I kissed Cory again," he said, willing to speak about this, at least. Funny that when given the opportunity to talk about Evan, he suddenly couldn't do it. "He comes into my room after lights-out and sometimes—sometimes we kiss. Nothing special or earth-shattering, you know? Just my lips on his. Or his on mine. I like it. It feels good."

"Why do you do it, Mackenzie? You said you're not gay; that you don't like boys. What do you think will happen when Cory realizes that you're just humoring him? Or what could happen if his mother finds out that the two of you are doing that? He's your stepbrother, Mackenzie, and your willingness to make out with him suggests some very disturbing possibilities in my mind."

"We're not _related_ ," Mackenzie sputtered. "It's not like that. Jesus."

"So let's talk about Evan." Dr. Forbes gave him an encouraging smile. "How does she make you feel?"

"Jesus fuck, not like that," Mackenzie protested. But he couldn't help but think back to the first time he'd kissed Cory. Evan's image on the back of his eyelids just before he opened them. But that didn't mean anything—she was always on his mind. The day he didn't think about her was the day he knew there was something seriously wrong with him.

"You extrapolated, Mackenzie. I didn't ask if she made you feel aroused. I just asked how she made you feel."

"Cory doesn't make my dick hard either, you know," Mackenzie said. "But he has nice lips. I—I really don't know why I keep letting him kiss me."

"Mackenzie, you're deflecting. Stop changing the subject—avoiding the issues will not help you."

"Well, Evan doesn't make me wanna take a whack at my dick, fuck. I can't—how could I ever explain to anyone else how it feels to be a twin? You know what? It's not like any other relationship. You can't measure it against something else. There's no yardstick that you can apply that will tell you whether or not she and I are normal."

"I understand that for twins, the connection is very vital and intrinsic. But most twins do learn to grow apart eventually, Mackenzie. They remain close, but they don't remain codependent. And in my opinion, you are very codependent on your sister. It's why you're suffering so much without her."

"Y'know something? I don't even wanna be here. I don't wanna talk about this. But, okay, I will. Evan and I aren't like that. We just—we need to see each other. I know that wherever she is, she's falling apart. I can feel it."

"What do you make of that?"

"She's miserable," Mackenzie muttered. "I don't—I can't fix it. If I were with her, I could fix it. That's my job, really. I'm older by seventeen minutes."

"It's not your job to 'fix' someone else, Mackenzie. You are not responsible for her happiness, and she is not responsible for yours, and that is what I am trying to tell you."

"You don't know anything about us," Mackenzie retorted. "You don't know me, not after fifty minutes of listening to me when I was upset. Not after twenty minutes today. No, Dr. Forbes, you don't know me. And you _certainly_ don't know my sister."

"Give me a chance, Mackenzie. I can help you."

"How? Can you get my parents back together? Can you make it happen so that Evan and I can be together?"

"Mackenzie, do you ever listen to the language that you use when you refer to your sister? You can't 'be together', Mackenzie. You can stand next to each other in the same room, but that language is usually reserved for lovers. I know this might seem too early to ask this question, but, Mackenzie: have you slept with Evan?"

Mackenzie spluttered, gave her the most incredulous look. "Didn't I already say that she doesn't make my dick hard? How could I—God, why would I—?"

"You tell me. Why do you talk about her like that?"

"I don't know," Mackenzie said, throwing up his hands helplessly. "It's just—I've always talked about her that way."

"I knew a pair of siblings once," Dr. Forbes began. "They were so wrapped up in each other; couldn't see a damn thing but the other. Starting having sex after a few years. It ended in tragedy, Mackenzie. Family is forever. You need to remember that."

"I think, by now, I know that, thanks."

"That's not what I mean. I mean that your sister will always be your sister—if you did something foolish, Mackenzie, what would you do when it ended?"

"I don't even know why we are having this conversation." Mackenzie ran a finger through his hair. "I don't think about her like that, and the whole point of me missing her is rooted in the fact that she's my _family_. Do you not get that?"

"Mackenzie, it's just a cautionary tale. Those two siblings—one of them killed herself, and the other went insane. And not because they were separated—but because they couldn't stay together anymore, and couldn't bear to be apart because of how close they were. I just don't want to see that happen to you."

"I still can't figure you out. I don't want Evan that way, I never did." But somewhere, in a place that Mackenzie wasn't listening to, the word _liar_ flipped onto repeat.

"Well, I don't know if we've really accomplished anything today, Mackenzie, but your session is up." Again Dr. Forbes wrote something on her card, held it out to him. "I won't be seeing you again till school starts, so you will be able to tell me all about your classes and how you're adjusting to high school. And, Mackenzie? Do try to eat more over the next week, all right?"

Mackenzie shot out the door so fast that Shirley didn't even have a chance to ask him how it had gone as he ran out the sliding glass doors at the front of the office.

Even though Shirley pressed him all the way back, the only thing he could think about was the story that Dr. Forbes had told him. What if she was right?

What if he _did_ have a crush on Evan?

:::

The problem with saying she wanted it gone was that once Evan was in her room, the walls shadowed by the falling twilight, she found herself cradling her belly and thinking—just thinking— _what should I do?_

She couldn't start high school pregnant, that was for sure; first impressions were everything. If she showed up carrying, she'd get labelled and that would be that. But even though—God, she hated to think about it. No matter what she did, she knew she was going to feel guilty. Aborting it—that had to be the best thing to do, and George would know.

But still—now that she knew about it, knew that there was another life growing inside her, dependent on her, Evan felt her throat choke up with tears. She didn't have any choice. Even if she'd put on a good enough front for George—even if she'd been angry, _so angry_ —now that she was alone, with nothing but her thoughts for company, she realized how poisonous those thoughts were.

_Mackenzie_. She couldn't stop thinking about him. He'd be so upset, but he'd never, ever love her one iota less just because she'd done something stupid. And now, more than ever, she wished she could snuggle up to him, both of them crammed in his bed, and press her face to his chest so that her tears soaked into his skin, became part of him, the way that he was part of her.

But fuck, she'd been so stupid. She couldn't've got herself into more trouble if she'd tried—well, okay, so maybe certain things she still hadn't done, but if she'd _tried_ to get pregnant just to make life difficult for George, well, it probably would not have happened. Not that she'd wanted this to happen.

But even though the tears filmed over her eyes and clumped her lashes, even though her belly still rolled with nausea, she was perversely glad, in the end. Here was something to point to: Evan was a screw-up.

But even this wasn't enough. She had to do something, something that would cause George to send them—or even just her—away. Any place but locked up in this prison, and she could start searching for Mackenzie. She was sure she could find him; he was her twin.

So, fuck, George was right. _God, what a fucking prick_. He was right that she still thought, apparently buried deep, that if she acted out enough, Laurel would take her back to her dad, to Mackenzie—and that was the only thing that mattered. Getting back to Mackenzie.

She forcibly unwrapped her hands from around her middle, trying to distance herself from the child that had taken residence inside of her. It had to go— _had_ to. Mackenzie wouldn't be happy she'd done any of these things, but Mackenzie would also be the only person to get why. So she had to get the procedure done, and then she could go to high school and start finding more boys to sneak around with.

She swallowed back the rest of the tears, tried to take stock. _Come on, Evan, you can do this. You'll be all right; and you'll see Mackenzie again. Don't think about the other possibilities._

Maybe Laurel would just get sick and tired of trying to make Evan behave. Maybe she'd do what it always seemed like she should have done long ago, and send Evan away. Evan knew her mom didn't like being a mother very much, and she knew that probably not a day passed that Laurel didn't wish she'd packed up Mackenzie instead. Because Evan knew that whatever else happened, _he_ would never behave the way she was.

He was too good. He wouldn't sleep around, or smoke pot, or go skinny-dipping in the local pool after dark. Evan grinned a little at the memory.

_"You can't catch me!" she'd laughed, throwing her hands out, as if she could capture the entire sky and hold it against her bare chest. Night had already tiptoed over everything, leaving nothing but darkness and shadows behind, and the sky above was like a crinkled satin blanket still fluttering above her—kind of like one of those parachute things they'd played with in gym when she was a kid. Back when she and Mackenzie were still together._

_She shoved Mackenzie away as best she could—his name, his beautiful face, only brought pain to her now—and ran towards the pool, her bare feet smacking against the pavement. Evan flipped her hair back and tossed a glance over her shoulder; Jo-Anne followed, just as naked, her bigger breasts gleaming under the crescent moon, and Evan figured Jo-Anne was probably staring at her ass; that or her thighs, which were just right. Jo-Anne had been the first person to touch her tongue to them, to bite down hard enough to leave a teeth imprint that lasted for days._

_She jumped into the pool with a thrilling splash, and heard Jo-Anne sink into the water too behind her, and she paddled against the water, turning towards her new friend—her only friend, really. Jo-Anne was up close, every freckle on display in the dim illumination—they glowed like those glow-in-the-dark stars that Evan had used to have on the bedroom ceiling of the room she shared with Mackenzie._

_She'd gotten to keep that room, that ceiling, when Mackenzie moved into the attic room, which had been converted._

_She threw her arms around Jo-Anne, wet with chlorinated water, hair swirling berry-red around them, and kissed cherry lips, her eyes falling shut and nothing on her mind but armful of girl, close wet mouths moving in tandem, hard calves kicking against hers every so often to stay afloat even though the water was shallow._

_They'd walked back to Evan's house hand-in-hand, clothed in damp garments because neither of them had had the foresight to bring towels, and Evan had felt so exhilarated, so full of life. Jo-Anne wasn't Mackenzie, of course not, but she was fun to hang out with, and she was always up for whatever crazy idea Evan had next. She swung their arms, grinned up at the moon, hanging low in the sky like a heavy bit of shaped marble, and tried not to think about how much she missed her twin._

_When they got back to George's house, Jo-Anne had turned, clasped Evan's other hand, leaned close until her breath—scented of sweet nighttime air—washed across Evan's lips when she spoke._

_"I'm in love with you," she'd said. "I don't wanna watch you walk into that house; I want you to come back to mine and stay the night."_

_"You know I can't do that," Evan had said, because the truth was she didn't want to go home with Jo-Anne. If she did, Jo-Anne would probably expect her to do something like lick her tits, or worse, her cunt. Evan wasn't quite ready for that kind of commitment—she still wasn't sure that she liked girls that much, even if kissing Jo-Anne held possibility._

_"Please, Evan. It's not like that would be any worse than anything else you've done." Jo-Anne smiled as prettily as she could, and Evan was tempted if only because it would be one more fuck-you to her stepfather, but in the end she'd shaken her head and pulled her hands out of Jo-Anne's._

_"No, I can't." She stepped around Jo-Anne, who was older and had more experience and basically thought that Evan was only interesting because Evan would make out with her without telling anyone. "I'll see you tomorrow or Thursday," she said. "Maybe I can use your internet to try and find Mackenzie's address, to send him a letter?"_

_"All right. I hope you do find your brother," Jo-Anne said, even if it probably still made her uneasy the way that Evan always talked about him. Basically non-stop._

_Evan crept back into the house, and thankfully George had fallen asleep on the couch, so she snuck up to her room and huddled under her blankets, thinking about Mackenzie and what it would be like—how utterly euphoric it would be—to see him again._

_She fell asleep in wet clothes and woke up with a sniffle, but the night had been worth it, fun even though Jo-Anne still expected too much._

Evan opened her eyes, realized that while she'd been recalling that memory, the day had changed over from daylight to nighttime again. That meant she'd been sitting there, doing essentially nothing, for hours. Since that morning, really. Just sitting and thinking about the baby—thinking about the sex that had led to it, about the girl she'd finally gotten sick of because Jo-Anne was so fucking clingy. Evan had never been in love with her, not even for a moment.

She'd never been in love with anyone for even as long as a split-second, and she knew why, even though she didn't like to admit it to herself all that often: she was too close to Mackenzie. Maybe if he were with her, maybe if they could just see each other, cleave to each other the way they always had in times of distress, she wouldn't have put herself in this position. Maybe she would have been able to fall in love with someone—have something _real_ —if she didn't have to keep reaching out for someone who was no longer there.

Or maybe not. Evan didn't really know. Love seemed like such an unreachable goal, such an improbability, unless she was thinking about Mackenzie, and then it was just a _given_ —if she carved open her own chest cavity and scooped out her heart, it would just go on beating inside of his. _That_ she knew. When she was with Mackenzie, she didn't even think of him in terms of _love_. Because what they had—it went so far fucking beyond that, it sometimes moved her to tears.

Trying to imagine life without Mackenzie had once been something she saved for her darkest nightmares, when she was lonely or depressed or afraid, and she'd picture herself alone, inexplicably, Mackenzie just _gone_ —and she'd start to cry, hitching, choking-the-oxygen-in-her-lungs sobs, and Mackenzie would always be there almost instantly. He could be sound asleep and she could be crying silently but he always knew, and he'd be in her bed just as fast as he could, arms cradled around her, telling her, _everything will be all right, Glimmer_. That stupid nickname he'd used when she was a baby, and kept it in use only for times when she was obviously so broken-down.

And then their parents had ripped them apart as brutally as if she and Mackenzie had been conjoined twins knifed apart with no anaesthesia.

After that, nothing really hurt anymore, not in any realm of comparison that she had. Because her worst nightmare—why would it have ever come true?

Sometimes she still woke up in the middle of the night, hearing Glimmer on lips that matched hers, and she'd reach out her arms, then open her eyes, and everything in the world would feel like it was shattering glass, cutting her up all over in every imaginable way.

Sometimes, she woke up and she'd forgotten. But she always knew, seconds after waking, that Mackenzie wasn't there—any time he was nearby, she'd always been able to sense him, even if he was in another room and she had her eyes closed.

_Why?!_ Why had her parents done this to her—to them? Why had they been separated?

Evan felt her belly roil again, but it was less insistent now, and she kind of wanted peanut butter pickles, which, _gross_. She closed her eyes again, expanded every sense, and knew, even though he was a million miles away, even though she had no idea just where he was, that he was just as miserable, that he missed her just as much.

And she knew without having to think about it that Mackenzie would have turned it all inward, suffering silently, because she'd always been the one to vomit emotion all over everything, and he'd always been the one to quietly reflect. The only person he ever opened his heart to was Evan—what would he do now? He was isolated and unhappy and she _wasn't there to listen to him_. To reassemble all of the pieces of his broken soul until they fit back together seamlessly in the way that only she could do.

_What had they done to him?_ she wondered, as she pushed aside all thoughts of a baby she didn't want.

She couldn't even fathom wanting anyone or _anything_ else until she had her brother back.

:::

Mackenzie rolled over in his bed, eyes springing open like he'd been wide-awake already, even though moments before that he'd been sound asleep. Without having to think about it, he knew that Evan was reaching for him, missing him, thinking about him.

And just as acutely, with a clarity that might've been impossible for anyone else to understand, Mackenzie knew that Evan was in some kind of trouble.

_I'm so sorry, Glimmer,_ he whispered into his pillow. The nickname he'd given her because whenever his life was dark, and hopeless, she'd always been a beacon, a glimmer of hope. And now she was lost to him, like he was a ship crashing against the rocks, searching the inky sky and coastline for a lighthouse that wasn't there.

And then, turning over in the bed again, he had a sudden craving for pickles and peanut butter. Odd.

He forced his eyes closed and struggled to keep them that way. If he thought—

And then, with whip-crack intensity, Mackenzie realized that he was thinking about Evan and his dick was tenting out the blankets.

Not that he'd never had a whack at it before, but certainly not while thinking about his sister. And the words of Lily—Dr. Forbes—echoed in his head: _they were so wrapped up in each other; couldn't see a damn thing but the other. Starting having sex after a few years. It ended in tragedy, Mackenzie. Family is forever. You need to remember that._

He knew that. Of course he knew that. But then again... what if? What if, what if, _what if_?

He tried to will it away, to shove sleep back over his brain, but nothing worked, and then there was a quiet knock on the door. He rolled to his side to hide the evidence, and whispered, "Come in."

When Cory climbed onto the bed behind him and looped an arm around Mackenzie's chest, he figured maybe this was for the best.

He shifted in Cory's grip, lifted his head an inch or two from the pillow, and met Cory's lips, still tasting of mouthwash.

And as he kissed Cory, he promised himself that the erection that wouldn't subside was due to the soft and persuasive pressure of Cory's mouth against his own.

:::

That night, Cory slipped his hand into Mackenzie's boxer shorts and clumsily stroked him off, right until Mackenzie blew his load all over the inside of the fabric and the soft skin of Cory's hand.

But when Cory flopped onto his back, his own dick sharply outlined by his sweatpants, Mackenzie couldn't make himself touch it.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I don't know if I'm ready for that yet."

Cory looked disappointed; of course he did, why wouldn't he?

"It's all right, Mackenzie," he said in a low voice. "I know you're still not sure if you're g—even like boys. Even a little. But d'you mind—do you mind if I take care of it?"

Mackenzie slipped a smile onto his face like he might slip his fingers into his baseball glove—easy and familiar, even if it wasn't exactly genuine.

"No," he said. "I don't mind."

"Will you watch?" Cory asked, facial features shadowed with shyness, and Mackenzie widened the smile. _Easy, so easy._

"Sure, why not?" he said, and he sat back against his wall as Cory lifted out his heavy cock, bigger than Mackenzie's—but then, Cory was already sixteen. And he watched every movement, every flick of the wrist, until the image was burned into his brain like a picture on toast.

And he told himself it was hot, that he liked it. That he could cobble together a relationship with Cory that could work, even if nothing could ever take the place of Evan in his life.

His dick throbbed again, and he swore to himself that it was just the beauty of Cory splayed out on his bed, dick in hand. Not the image of Evan in his place. What she might look like naked, now that she was growing up. Now that he hadn't seen her in years—not like he hadn't seen her naked before. But this was different: this image made him feel crazy-stupid in that way that only Evan had ever made him feel.

:::

Time was ticking down to the first day of high school, and even though Mackenzie was looking forward to it—anything to get him out of the house and away from Shirley for longer periods of time—he was starting to get anxious, too. The only people he knew in this town were on his baseball team—and Cory, of course—and Mackenzie had no way of knowing if they'd even be attending the same school.

And to top it all off, Cory seemed to think that because Mackenzie had watched him wank it, that pretty soon it should be Mackenzie's turn—like he could put himself on display like that. School was starting on a Friday this year, and it was already Wednesday when Cory slipped in through Mackenzie's part-way open bedroom door and pressed it closed behind him.

"Are you asleep?" he asked in a hushed tone. Mackenzie flopped onto his back and shook his head against the pillow, making his hair crackle with static electricity.

"Nah, can't," he replied, and Cory walked over to the bed.

"Scoot over," he said, still soft. They both knew that if Shirley caught them in bed together—and she didn't sleep very deeply at all—that they'd both be in deep shit. It'd go worse for Cory, of course, because he was her son and supposed to be ideal in every aspect, but Cory knew as well as Mackenzie did that she didn't really like him, didn't like being responsible for him, especially since he was such a "troublemaker."

Mackenzie did as Cory asked, though, squinching over in the bed until he was up against the wall. Cory laid down beside him, but he made no move to touch, not like he sometimes did.

"School starts in a couple of days," Cory said, and Mackenzie laid there in the dark, and Cory just sort of waited, and it was clear that Cory was looking for the right words to say.

Finally, just as Mackenzie was about to slip off to sleep, Cory spoke again, this time more of a raspy whisper.

"You're not—you won't tell anyone, right?" He still didn't move closer, keeping an inch or two of space between them on the bed.

"Why would I?" Mackenzie said, the sound of sleep in his own voice. "You stayin'?" he asked, turning his head towards Cory. Cory shifted, leaned up on his elbow, stared down into Mackenzie's face.

"I'll set my phone for four," Cory said. "Mom gets up tomorrow around five, and I gotta be back in my own room."

_In my own bed, and not sleeping next to a boy_ , went unspoken, but Mackenzie heard it all the same.

"Wish I had a cell phone," Mackenzie said wistfully. "I could try to find Evan, call her."

"And that's why they won't let you have one," Cory replied, but he did sound sympathetic. "Can't let you use mine; they monitor it. And they'd notice."

"We should sleep," Mackenzie said. "I have a game tomorrow."

Cory dropped his voice even lower, leaning close, so that the shadows from the room fell over his face, unbroken by the streetlights outside the window.

"Please. You can't tell anyone, Mackenzie. If you do, my mom—she'll—"

"I won't," Mackenzie said, mattress creaking as he lifted his arm, stroked across Cory's cheek with the back of his hand. "If nothing else, Cor, you know that if I said anything everyone would know it about me, too. And I'm in enough trouble as it is."

"She's just trying to help," Cory said. "I know, it's all fucked up, but Mom thinks that she knows everything."

"Well, I wish she'd quit it. I mean, come on, Cor, if my dad was so in love with her, how come he's never around? I miss my dad, too. It's like no one wants to be around me. No one but you."

Cory slowly tipped his head down until their lips brushed when he next spoke. "I think I'm in love with you," he said, and for a moment, Mackenzie couldn't hear a single sound, not a cricket—one of the staples of summertime—not Cory's breathing, not even the sound of the house settling under the weight of the people sleeping within.

"You don't—don't say that," Mackenzie said, thinking about Evan's picture underneath them both, zipped into the mattress cover.

"When school starts," Cory replied, as if he hadn't heard those damaging words, "I'm going to have to do the whole thing, you know. Girls. But if I know—if I know I can go home and you'll be here for me, I can do it. I can fake it as long as I have something real."

_But you don't_ , Mackenzie thought to himself, as silently as he could make it, as if Cory could hear his thoughts. _This isn't real. The only thing I ever had that was real was taken from me._

"Say something, Mackenzie. C'mon, tell me anything. Please?"

Mackenzie opened his mouth, and the words that fell from his lips did so without his permission. "All right," he said. "Just kiss me already," he finished, and Cory didn't need a second invitation.

_I'm not even gay_ , ran through Mackenzie's mind, a circular thought process that he couldn't seem to break. _I don't even like boys. Why do I keep kissing him? Why do I keep letting him get close to me when the only person I want to be close to is Evan?_

When Cory lifted his mouth away again, Mackenzie could feel the remainder of his spit on his lips, could almost still taste his tongue in his mouth. "Just talk for awhile," Mackenzie said sleepily. "Till we fall asleep."

"Tomorrow night," Cory murmured, "tomorrow, please, won't you jerk it for me? I'll do it for you again right after."

Mackenzie kept his eyes firmly closed and deepened his breathing, so that Cory would lie back and go to sleep because he believed that Mackenzie was already asleep.

_As if that's incentive_ , he thought, even as sleep rushed towards him like an oncoming train. _I don't wanna see you jerk it again. Once was enough._

"I love you, Mackenzie," whispered Cory, and the bed sank down under his weight as he laid back onto the pillow.

_I like you, and you're all right as my stepbrother, but I'm not gonna fall in love with you. I think it's too late for that._

:::

Evan's appointment with the doctor was the following morning, and George had promised her that she wouldn't miss more than a day or two of school as long as she rested and took it easy the next couple of days.

Which meant tonight—Wednesday night—was the perfect time to climb down the trellis outside her window and hop onto the ground, trying not to break her heels in the process, as she planned to meet up with Jo-Anne and go to some party that Jo claimed was gonna be "epic."

She hadn't told Jo-Anne about the pregnancy, and she only hoped it wasn't as obvious to anyone else the way it had been to her stepfather. She felt a little shaky as she started cutting across the lawn; Jo-Anne was gonna be just down the street in her '69 Mustang, the car her father had bought her when he found out she was bisexual. It had been a bribe, of course: the car for Jo never mentioning again that she liked girls, and for keeping her liaisons private so that her father could continue pretending.

She hadn't told her mother, either, which was funny, because Evan was equally sure that George had yet to say anything to Laurel. Why he wouldn't have told her, Evan couldn't say, unless he was hoping Evan was going to show some responsibility like he was always hounding her about, and tell her mother herself. Like that was ever gonna fucking happen.

She tiptoed across one final lawn and rounded the corner, grinned when she saw the shiny car under the streetlights. Even though she'd blatantly ignored Jo-Anne that day at the mall, she could really use someone to talk to right about now, and there was no fucking way she was gonna do it on the house phone—George would probably listen in. Hell, he was probably listening at her door right now to make sure she followed the letter of her punishment.

But she was good, so damn good, and he'd never even know she was missing until she came back in. Whenever that might be. She waved to Jo-Anne and took off at a run, careless and carefree, and she didn't even think about her stomach as she did it. She was gonna go to this party, she was gonna get fucking toasted, and then she was going to forget about everything. Well, except Mackenzie, of course. Like she could ever, for even a second, forget about him.

She threw open the passenger side door and slid onto the seat, rubbed her palm over Jo-Anne's thigh in greeting and slammed the car door closed again.

"How're you doing, babe?" Jo-Anne asked. "I haven't seen you in awhile."

Evan laughed outright, already feeling better about everything. "I got your email last time I had George drive me down to the library," she said, because she kept a Gmail account there—free and anonymous and George didn't know she had one.

She knew that she was supposed to go shopping with her mother on Saturday, but she wasn't sure if that still held up after the procedure, and since Laurel didn't know about it yet, Evan was hoping maybe she could get a ride with Jo-Anne and buy the sluttiest clothes she could find.

Though, now that she thought about it, her mom would probably let her buy the same types of clothes just because she was always trying to be Evan's best friend—as if that could make up for what she'd done. Something she was never going to forgive her mother for.

After all, Evan wasn't supposed to be out of the house for anything, but she already knew Laurel would wheedle George until he made an exception, just because she wanted to go on this shopping trip— _it'll be so awesome, baby!_ —so badly.

"I'm fabulous," Evan said, lying through her teeth. "I'm awesome."

"You look fucking hot," Jo said with a whistle between her teeth. "Geez, girl, your tits have grown like two cup sizes since I first met you. You sure I can't just suck on them a little?"

"I wouldn't know," Evan said with a snicker. "I haven't worn a bra since my stupid mom brought home the training bras when I was twelve. Gave that up as fast as I could."

"Well, it's a good look on you," Jo-Anne said. "Fuck, you're practically glowing. You take some shit already that I don't know about? And forget to share?"

Evan gulped, some of her good mood whisking away under the scrutiny. Didn't they always blah blah blah about pregnant women glowing? Fuck.

"You like my outfit?" Evan said, twisting in her seat. She was wearing one of her babydoll tops and a pair of cut-off shorts underneath that were so short they rode up into her ass-crack.

"I love it, babe," Jo-Anne said. "Please, can I just—"

"Not now," Evan said, turning back towards the road and watching the white lines flash under the car. "Maybe after, when I'm good and drunk. I'm not feeling it yet."

"All right," Jo-Anne replied. "Let's go crash this party and get you tanked and high."

Evan smiled to herself—she wasn't gonna give in, even after her judgment was impaired, because tonight? Tonight she felt like swinging her ass until she couldn't breathe, felt like dancing past three in the morning and giving her best _come-hither_ smile to everyone she saw. Hell, maybe by that point she would feel like making out with Jo-Anne again.

Still, it was uncomfortable knowing that Jo-Anne had a thing for her that she didn't quite reciprocate. Mackenzie would be appalled and upset with her if he knew she was playing with someone else's emotions. But he would understand, eventually—there wasn't any reason to care about someone else's emotions when she couldn't be with her twin, the one person she _belonged_ with.

The car rolled to a stop and Jo-Anne threw it into park. "Here," she said, gesturing towards the giant house looming above them. In the darkness, it looked like a stooping black shadow, as if it were leaning down to grab at her hair, but Evan shook the fanciful, stupid idea away and got out of the car.

It was fucking bigger than George's house, she thought with reluctant admiration. She started to walk up the granite walkway, heard Jo-Anne lock the car and then the click of her heels as she followed.

"Whose house is this?" she asked, still staring at it. It might've been painted blue, but it was hard to tell in the smoky darkness squatting over everything.

"Gary Devin's," Jo-Anne replied. "He's turning twenty-one tonight and his parents are still in Paris, so, you know, giant party to celebrate. I hope he's got some good shit to share."

"If you do any X," Evan said, still making her way up to the front door, "stay away from me. You're gropy enough without that shit."

"As if you didn't love it, babe." Jo-Anne said, and Evan felt a slight pang of guilt. She must be a pretty good actress, if Jo hadn't figured out yet that she didn't return those affections.

"He hot?" Evan asked, looking way up at the house now that they were almost at the front stairs.

"He's hot enough for both of us," Jo-Anne said with a leer as she reached around Evan to knock, deliberately brushing her breasts against Evan's bare shoulder. "And I happen to know for a fact that he'll _like_ both of us."

"Dude!" Evan giggled and swatted Jo's arm. "At the _same time_?"

"Fuck yeah, baby," Jo said with an answering giggle. "Should be fun, right? You'll do it with me, won't you, babe?"

"Yeah," Evan said. "Yeah, I will." She listened to the music pounding on the other side of the door. "Should be pretty easy, right? Make out a little for 'im and then just start in?"

"He's not gonna know what hit him," Jo replied with a giant conspiratorial grin. "Best birthday present ever. I'd say. Better than hookers, anyway, and I bet at least one of his sleazy friends hired one of those for him."

"Ha," Evan laughed, as the door swung open to reveal... only the most gorgeous guy she'd ever seen. The only, _only_ person who she might have said was hotter was Mackenzie, and he didn't count because he was her brother. Then again, this was not the time to be thinking about her brother, because she was getting wet between her thighs just looking at this guy.

"Hey, Gary," Jo said in her most sultry voice. "Could you use two more?"

"For you? Anything. And your friend is tasty, too," he said, giving Evan a really slow once-over. It might have been humiliating or revolting if it weren't for the fact that Evan was just as prepared to be shallow and fuck this guy she'd never even met before.

She leaned up on her tiptoes to kiss him—even her heels not bringing her to his height—and when she dropped back down, she smiled. Her best smile.

"Hi," she said. "I'm Evan." _And that fucking pregnancy can go fuck itself,_ she thought, as she walked through the doorway.

:::

She hadn't spent as much time dancing as she'd originally planned, because Gary Devin was smoking hot and Jo-Anne was damn straight—well, not _straight_ , per se—about him taking the both of them back to bed. But at some point she'd stopped making out with Jo and started kissing a trail down sculpted abs, and by the time she lifted her head again from her task, Jo-Anne was gone.

She licked her lips, and bitter came away on her tongue. "Where's Jo?" she slurred, filled to the brim with liquor.

"Decided I was too much for her," Gary said with a vaguely sleazy grin. "Didn't like the fact that I was payin' so much attention to you, and 'sides that, she's a little too gay to do what you've been doin', sweet thang."

"I could do this all night long," Evan lied easily. She probably could, but then, her only purpose for doing so would be to take her mind off her brother, so maybe it didn't really count—Gary looked like he thought she should be enjoying it for its own sake, and she'd basically just told him she did.

"Plus," he whispered, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her up against him, where she could feel him growing hard again already, "I think she knew how much I'd like _you_ , kitten."

"My birthday's only a couple of days from yours," Evan said breathlessly. "September second."

"And how old are you going to be, precious?" He ran his fingers through her hair and laughed when the curls bounced back. "You are a fucking _sweet_ piece of ass," he said.

"I'll be fifteen," she said, then smiled coyly, looking down at his nipples, rosy and pebbled. Her own chest was bare, and had been since Jo-Anne had unhooked her and slipped her out of her babydoll.

"Ooh, yummy," Gary said, and gave her another exaggerated leer. "I love 'em best when they're young, and you, darling peach, are just about young enough right now."

"Why don't you fuck me, then?" she asked, and sat up, cupped her own breasts before sliding her hands down her body, and unzipping her cut-offs.

"Oh, believe me, I plan to," he said, and reached for her.

:::

Later, the sky about as rosy as Gary's nipples and chest had been, Evan lay cuddled up against his hard muscled side and thought about the fact that she'd just spent the night in the same bed as some boy she'd only just met—and who the fuck knew where Jo-Anne was.

Which made her sit straight up and turn to Gary, shaking him. _Fuck, the appointment!_ "Wake up, you douchenozzle," she hissed. "Fuck me, oh fuck, fuck, fuck!"

She didn't have a watch on, her clothes were scattered someplace not immediately visible, and she could see the sky brightening up even further. The appointment was at eight a.m., and she had to be home not only in time for it, but in time so that George didn't know she'd been missing.

"Seriously," she growled, shaking the stupid prick again, "wake _up_." He had been all the more ruthless with her when he'd found out she was under fifteen, and yeah, so Evan didn't have a lot of moral scruples of her own but she did know that it was pretty sick to get off that much on her age. And boy, had he ever.

"I gotta go home," she whined, and slapped his naked chest, which made him stir and grumble. She started casing the room until she found her missing babydoll, but her cut-offs were gone and she couldn't find anything else to wear except Jo-Anne's discarded panties. She shoved herself into them and crept out of the room till she found the bathroom, pissed, and then looked at the clock on the wall.

_It was already almost seven_. She was in it so deep this time. Gathering up the folds of the sheer bottom of the nightie and running for the stairs, she found some random guy smoking a bong in front of the television, looking like he hadn't slept in a week.

"Hey, hey, help," she said, throwing herself in front of the t.v. to get his attention. "I need a ride home, can you give me a ride home?"

He looked her up and down much like Gary had done last night, then spread his legs wider on the couch. "Sure thing, sweetness," he said, and his intentions were about as clear as the empty glass bottle of vodka on its side next to him. She sighed and got down to her knees, opened his jeans.

_This better be worth it_ , she thought, as she tried not to think about time whistling past her.

:::

Mackenzie woke up alone, and thank God for that, because he wasn't ready to face Cory yet after his admission last night. It was Thursday, which meant school started tomorrow and after that his birthday—his and Evan's, and it killed him to have another one of those without her around. He blinked blearily a few times and then fumbled around under the bedcovers, trying to emerge.

Once he'd beaten his blankets into submission, he fiddled with the zipper to try and get it open without having to strip the bed, and once he was successful, he had Evan's worn photo in his hand again, and he stared at her, her pretty eyes, her lithe young-girl shape, and he closed his eyes and tried to picture her as she might look now—he added breasts and shortened her hair, took out some of the little-girl curl and gave her long legs, and it was about that point that he realized that in his mind's-eye, aging her up to fifteen, she was completely nude, and his dick was straining at the front of his boxer briefs again.

_Why the fuck not?_ he wondered, and set the picture down on his chest, reached into his shorts and began to pull on his cock. All the while, he let himself think about Evan, imagined her reaching down her body to touch herself, and just as her pale slender fingers skimmed down over her belly and disappeared between her thighs, Mackenzie came all over himself, which was a strange thing: when was the last time he'd come that fast, that easily?

And then, right on the banks of that thought: why did he sense Evan, more clearly than ever? He focused, pinned his attention down hard, and came away feeling slightly dirty. Wherever she was, whatever she was doing, she wasn't happy about it—she felt downright defiled by it.

And maybe it was his, Mackenzie's, fault. Maybe she could tell he'd just jacked it to thoughts of her touching herself. That would probably make her feel sick, he reasoned. Better that, too, than she was doing something else—doing something worse, or having something worse happen to her, like being raped by some much older guy who should know better.

And, come to think of it, Mackenzie felt kind of defiled by his own actions.

Even if he did ever see her again, how could he face her, knowing what he'd just done?

And fuck, but there was no way he was going to mention this anomaly to his therapist. For that matter, he wasn't even going to see her again if he could help it.

What a quack.

:::

"Where, in God's name, have you been?" shouted George when she stumbled in, disheveled and barely dressed. She could feel how swollen her lips were and knew her hair was a mess, and the picture she was presenting was not exactly one that begged him to offer her any leeway with anything.

"I—" but she didn't really have a good answer, so she shut her mouth.

"All right, young lady, listen to me," George said, forcibly gentling his tone. "You are going to talk to your mother and explain where we're going, and you're going to do it fast, because we have barely twenty minutes to get to the clinic. And then, for heaven's sake, at least brush your hair and put something decent on. If you even _own_ anything decent."

"Okay," she said meekly, because she'd so been hoping to get back into the house before George got up—but she'd seen the lights as soon as she hopped out of the dilapidated car that the stoner had driven her home in. "I'll see if I can find some jeans, at least."

"You do that," her stepfather said dryly, and Evan knew from his tone of voice that he was beyond exasperated with her, as he'd never sounded quite so sarcastic before—he was always all infinite patience.

Evan was perversely proud of herself for finally ruffling those feathers. So he was capable of being rattled by something she did.

She ran up the stairs to her room and stripped herself naked, staring into the mirror for what felt like an age, just staring at her belly. It was still flat, perfect, but she knew that the _thing_ was in there, like a parasite that needed to be exterminated. She had to think of it that way, or she'd never be able to go through with the abortion, and she had no other choice.

Suddenly aware that minutes were counting down and she still had to talk to her mother, she found some jeans crumpled up on the floor and yanked them on. The only shirt she had that was even vaguely appropriate was a tank top with wide straps. When she was more decently dressed she ran back down the stairs and crashed directly into her mother.

Laurel was looking slightly constipated, as if she knew what was coming—Evan wasn't sure if George had finally filled her in, or what, but somehow she didn't think that meant that she was off the hook. She took a quick step backwards and almost tripped on the bottom stair.

"You wanna explain to me what's going on?" Laurel asked, sounding even worse than she looked. "I can't believe the disrespect that you show your stepfather all the time. I just don't understand you!"

_Oh._ So her mother was upset about _that_ —which meant that she probably didn't know about the baby yet. _Oh crap._ That wasn't a good thing—now Evan was going to have to actually cop to the pregnancy. That was going to be a fucking pain in the ass—she couldn't really picture how her mother might react.

She fidgeted from foot to foot, then blurted it out: "I'm pregnant, Mama, and George is bringing me to have it taken care of in—" she looked at the hall clock— "about ten minutes. Or actually I think we're supposed to be there in ten minutes; either way, so I gotta go now, nice talking to you, see you when I get back," Evan babbled, and then took a giant step around her mother and started breezing down the hallway as fast as she dared.

From behind her, without looking back, she heard, "That's nice, honey. I'm glad you've at least learned to be proactive about life."

Evan paused for just a second, still not turning to see her mother's expression. "Seriously?"

Laurel made a sound that vaguely resembled a horse. "Jesus," she said. "You think I could say that and mean it? Come back here."

"I'm already late," Evan said, taking off again. Her mother's footsteps plodded after her, not speeding up to catch her, but keeping pace so that she could say, just as Evan reached the front door and blew through it,

"You wouldn't be late if you hadn't been out all night boozing and whoring," and Laurel sounded bitter now. But the funny thing was, Evan reflected as she slammed the door and locked it, her mother sounded more like she was bitter because _she_ couldn't live that lifestyle anymore than because Evan had been out getting into trouble all night.

She rubbed her still-swollen lips as she settled into the front seat of the car. She knew that her own mother hadn't really wanted kids as early as she and Mackenzie had been born; knew, too, that Laurel had always been a little miffed that there'd been twins to care for—as if it was somehow that much worse.

And maybe, Evan thought as the car pulled away from the curb, that was part of the reason why Laurel had only taken one of them with her.

Evan put her fingers on the glass and stared between them at the scenery that flashed by the car. She wished—oh how much she wished—that her mother had just taken off like she so obviously wanted, and left Evan behind with Mackenzie and their father. Evan knew that her father loved her, and would've cared about her.

The trees were just starting to turn russet and gold, and Evan focused on that—anything to keep from thinking about the fact that in this new place, the only person who even pretended to care about her was George, and that was the last thing she wanted from the last person she wanted it from.

:::

Evan sat in the waiting room, kicking her feet back and forth against the metal legs of the chair, too anxious and keyed up to read any of the magazines or pamphlets—most of which proclaimed things like, _I'm pregnant! What are my options?_

Evan knew she had only one real, viable option, and that was to go through with this procedure. George had tried to explain to her what was going to happen, but Evan hadn't been able to absorb any details. She could still feel drugs and alcohol coursing through her system, knew she couldn't so much as give an inkling about it, or they might not perform the procedure—and it had to be done, she had to get it over with.

Next to her, in a seat stationed so close that her leg kept brushing George's thigh, sat her stepfather, reading one of the magazines, as if he didn't have a care in the world. As if it was finally showing through that his alleged care for Evan was just that—feigned. She hefted a sigh and kicked the leg of the chair again.

George put his hand on her knee to hold her leg in place before she could kick it again. "Are you nervous, Evan?" he asked, and he said it in such a way that she could almost believe he gave a shit whether she was nervous or not. _Or maybe that was the problem, that he probably did care, which was worse._

"Not at all," she said brightly, but her voice quavered. She didn't look down, tried to pretend she wasn't cupping her flat stomach with her hand and thinking—thinking, _what if my mother had done this? What if she had aborted Mackenzie and I?_

But that was a line of thought that could go nowhere. Stalled on its tracks. Because while Evan was glad that Mackenzie and she had been born, she knew that this... this _thing_ inside her wasn't even really a baby yet, and Evan was much too young to take care of it. George moved his hand to her shoulder.

"Look, Evan, it's not too late to change your mind. We'll just use the appointment to get you checked out, discuss your options more in depth. If you don't want to abort, then we'll just home-school you until the baby's born, and then your mother and I would raise it, of course. I mean it, Evan. I will do anything in my power to make your life easier, but you have to let me help you."

"No," Evan replied, flat-out. "No, I want to start high school, and I just want to get this over with. What the fuck is taking so long?"

"Evan," George said, "when you go into that room, try to assume the appearance of a demure, respectful young lady, all right? Don't use that word, and don't talk about your conquests. Just tell them—"

"Should I tell them that my stepdaddy knocked me up?" she asked sweetly, and George blanched.

"For Christ's sake, no, Evan, Jesus, what is the matter with you?"

"It would make me look completely innocent," she explained, "and it would be one way for you to help me."

"That is not what I meant, Evan Banks. You shake that idea right out of your pretty little head right now."

"Relax, _daddy,_ " she said. "I'm not going to say that; you think I'm stupid? And besides, even I'm not _that_ cruel."

"Well, it's nice to know you have at least some limitations to your moral decay," George said, and there was the return of the sarcasm. Evan smiled down at her feet.

"I'm not even gonna say anything," she told her feet, and George sighed next to her.

"All right, Evan, and if you need me I'll be—"

"Right out here, yeah, I know, but if it's all the same to you, I don't want a man in there with me, thanks."

When she looked at George she could see that he was fighting not to make some remark about the number of men who'd probably already seen her naked, but he didn't have to struggle long and she didn't get much time to ponder it before the waiting room door opened and a nurse stepped through.

"Evan Raleigh Banks?" she said, and when Evan stood up, she gave her what was probably meant to be a reassuring smile. "Right this way, honey," she said.

All Evan could think, as she started to walk down the long, blandly white hallway, was _I'm not your honey._

:::

Mackenzie was warming up, swinging his bat around, trying to get comfortable with it again after a few days of no practice, when the thought that _Evan is in trouble_ speared through his brain like a piercing arrow of pain. He let the bat drop to the ground by his feet and tried to think about what he might be able to do for her from where he was.

But he couldn't think of anything, so he shook his head, trying to clear it. When he looked over at his teammates, he felt like he was staring through a pane of glass, so fuzzy his eyesight had gone. There was no physical reason for that to happen to him, though, which meant something was wrong with Evan—had she done something stupid?

Mackenzie loved his sister desperately with the type of all-consuming love most people never got to experience in their entire lives, but he also knew she could be reckless, do rash and unpredictable things that could be hazardous to her health. She'd never had much reason to indulge that side of her personality when they'd been together, but it had been a long time—she might be falling apart. She might be suffering as much or more than he was.

Shaking his head again, his vision didn't focus. It was as if he'd taken some drug or something—had Evan done that? Had Evan finally cracked, waiting for him? He watched the pitcher warming up through the haze, and tried to figure out if he could get on a bus and somehow try to find her, save her from herself.

What if she was overdosing—dying? What would he do, he thought, if she died?

And then he doubled over in pain, more psychic than physical, and crumpled to his knees in the dirt. Distantly he could hear some of the guys saying, _Mackenzie, are you okay? You all right, man?_ but he couldn't really speak, could only try to breathe through the spasms.

Evan wasn't hurting physically, but she was hurting, emotionally. And the more he tuned in, the more he could sense just what she was feeling: like something had been ripped away from her.

The way she'd felt when she met his eyes and got into that car so long ago—not that intense, but the same sort of sensation, and Mackenzie sucked in another breath and closed his eyes, still waiting for them to clear up.

And then there were hands on his back and shoulders, his teammates, trying to help him to his feet.

Just as soon as it had begun, it was over, and Mackenzie felt kind of woozy and out-of-it, but was still able to stand, able to meet the eyes of his coach and shakes his head in the negative to his worried questions.

"I'm okay," he said. "I'm fine, I just—I think it might've been the heat."

"You sure you want to practice today, son?" his coach asked, and Mackenzie steadied himself, looked down at his bat and glove, abandoned on the field.

"Maybe I'd better not," he said slowly. "I think I should go home and get some rest. Even though I hate to miss the last practice—"

"There will be others," his coach reminded him. "Your health is more important. You might want to think about seeing a doctor if you think the heat is affecting you that much."

"I'll take that into consideration, thanks," Mackenzie said. "I'm gonna go home." He gathered up his things—bat, ball, and glove—and trudged off the field. Even though the overwhelming aspect of the sensation was gone, he could tell that wherever Evan was she still felt out of sorts, still sick with whatever it was that was bothering her.

Instead of going home, though, he stopped at the library and logged onto one of the computers. He checked his free email account, and, receiving nothing, began to search webpages as if he could find Evan Stuart just by Googling her name.

He had no luck, and yet the feeling lingered, even after he put his things away at home and laid down on his bed, even after he slept, the feeling just persisted for hours. His whole body felt languid and tired, and he fell asleep in the early afternoon again.

He slept so long that he missed dinner. So long that he missed it if Cory came to his room.

He slept until it was almost Friday morning and time to get up for school.

:::

Evan left the clinic in the early evening, walking outside into darkness that fell across her skin like smooth satin, and George helped her to the car with one hand under her elbow, chattering happily about something that she couldn't listen to.

It was stupid. It was her only choice—she knew that. But as she climbed back into George's car, her lower body aching a little, she queried how she felt and came away with the sickening knowledge that the faint ache wasn't the worst of the pain. No—she felt empty suddenly, drained of all life, as if giving up her child to the vacuum they'd used to remove it was the same as vacuuming out her soul.

Which was melodramatic, and stupid, of course it was. And, lying her head back against the seat, she remembered the last months, the last years: the endless partying, the drugs, the sex, the careless behaviour. Would she have done it, done all of it, had Mackenzie been around? Would he have stopped her, if he'd known?

Would she have gotten pregnant if she'd had what she really wanted all along, anyway?

George turned the car radio on, and Evan barely registered that he'd tuned it to a station she liked, so lost in thought was she. She wanted those lost years back—like when she'd been so little, so young that Mackenzie and she fit in the same single bed, and she used to go to sleep and imagine that she could find the rewind button on her life.

She might not have done those things. Who could say? Maybe it was just because she was still angry—oh so angry. But maybe she would have. And as her eyes slowly closed, the light from streetlamps every so often brightening the world beyond her eyelids, she thought about Mackenzie. Thought about what he might look like now, what he might be doing right that second, whether he was thinking of her.

She knew, bone-deep, that he never forgot about her for even an instant, because she knew she could no sooner forget about him than stop breathing. But was he thinking about her right now? Was he even aware of what she'd done—could he tell? She knew she sometimes dreamt about Mackenzie and he'd be doing something she'd never seen him do, his face shadowed and only his yellow curls visible to her, his hands reaching for hers just the same as they'd always been, if a little bigger.

But even as she worried about what he might think of her if he knew about the abortion, she knew that given the opportunity she'd tell him. Because she felt hollow in a way that wasn't physical—she felt like someone had opened the top of her head and poured some of her thoughts away. As if there were memories she used to have that she didn't possess anymore.

She'd tell him. If she could even just—

"I want to write my brother a letter," she said to George, but she got no response, just the radio playing songs she didn't like. Speakers blasting so loud she could barely think, let alone sleep; and she needed more rest even after hours of taking it easy at the clinic. "I said—"

_You're a whore,_ the radio said clearly. _A floozy and a drug addict and an irresponsible human being._

She flailed, whacked her elbow so hard against the glass of the car window that her eyes shot open and she sat up, breathing like she'd just stepped off the dance floor, turning to look at George. He was whistling along to the music, and it was some new and popular song she liked—something she'd have to download later and stick on her mp3 player. She stared at the radio, still shocked, and realized she'd fallen asleep and dreamed, dreamed words that she might not have ever spoken to herself while conscious. _Words she deserved._

She wasn't pregnant any longer. She had a second chance at pretty much everything, now: she could start high school free and clear, she could stay away from the people that dragged her down into habits she wasn't proud of. She could finally tell Jo-Anne that she didn't want to sleep with her.

But—God, she _was_ a whore. She'd just blown a guy that she didn't even know that morning, all so she could get back home—and George had already figured out she was missing. _God, you dumb bitch,_ she thought viciously, _why didn't you just call your stepfather? He would've picked you up, and you know it._

And maybe that was the crux of it: she didn't want George's help, yet she'd willingly let him make the appointment for her, allowed him to drive her to it, and waved him off before he could walk into the exam room and hold her hand. All of a sudden she wished she'd let him—not because she liked him any more now than she did before the procedure, but because it had been lonely and kind of scary and there was no way in hell her mother would've ever been there for her, even if Evan had asked her to.

But she knew she'd never change. Maybe not even when she saw Mackenzie again. Maybe by the time she saw him again, she'd be so worn-out and used up he wouldn't even want her anymore. There wasn't anything that said that—but that was just as stupid. She shook her head, trying to make her thoughts stop circling helplessly, grinding gears she usually tried not to use. She didn't think much about her life and the direction it might take if she could help it, because she knew that without Mackenzie at the end of this tunnel of darkness she would've given up completely long ago.

"We're almost home, Evan," George said into the stillness. Even with the music playing, she could hear the slight hopeful note in his voice. She tried to quash the impulse to hurt him, to make him hurt simply because she always hurt, but she failed miserably.

"You trying to tell me something, daddy?" she said, and she could practically hear his face fall, since she couldn't make out his expression in the limpid darkness. She knew—somehow—that he longed for the day when she would open up to him, come to him with honesty and a desire to be a better person and then he could fix her. That every time she said _daddy_ to him it reminded him of his own kids, and how much they loved him—and how much she didn't.

"Evan, now. You need to be more careful. It's not a good thing for a girl who is only fourteen years old—"

"Almost fifteen," she interjected, but he continued on as if she hadn't spoken.

"—to have already had one abortion. Did no one ever explain to you about the use of condoms? Because, Evan, worse things can happen than just a baby. That was something you had choices about. But if you get AIDs? That's not something you can just suck away. And that's not the only STD that could kill you, Evan, so really, you need to be—"

"You said that already, daddy, shut up," she said, and kicked her foot against his car door. He sighed audibly.

"I'm just trying to help you, Evan." He switched the radio off again, let the silence swamp her. She hated that—it brought back all of the thoughts from earlier in the drive.

"I'm _never_ going to like you," she said nastily. "I'm never going to think of you as my father, and the only way you can _possibly_ help me is to find out where my brother is and drive me there."

"Evan, that is just not an option," George said, sadness evident in his tone. "Your mother had good reasons for doing what she did, and you just need to learn to come to terms with it."

"Is this, like, the Elisabeth Kübler-Ross five stages of grief? I'm up to acceptance? I thought—"

"Evan!" He shouted so loud the car windows rattled and her mouth snapped shut like a mousetrap sprung by the mouse. Wow. She'd never before managed to get him to raise his voice quite like that.

"God, you don't have to scream at me," she said, all innocence as if she didn't know she'd been needling him since he'd started speaking to her.

"Evan, please. Please give me a chance to help you."

"I told you what you can do, and if you won't do that, then you can shove the rest of your suggestions and assistance right the fuck up your fucking ass," she snarled, and turned to the window.

"You're still grounded," he said at last through clenched teeth. "The next time I catch you sneaking out I am painting your window shut and locking you in your room at night, and so help me God, you _will_ thank me for it when you get old enough to realize just how stupid you're being; how stupid you've been. You could've killed yourself. Hell, we don't even have the results of the HIV test yet, and it could already be too late—did you ever think of that?"

"You're not my daddy!" she screamed back at him. "You don't think I buy this crap, do you? You just wanna make my mother happy so she'll keep on fucking you—I'm not stupid, George! She's pretty hot, you know? And you're like, practically from the Stone Age, so of _course_ you want—"

"That is none of your business, Evan Raleigh Banks, and I will not discuss it with you. And furthermore—"

"You know what, George Banks? My name is Evan Stuart and my brother is Mackenzie Stuart and I will never be happy without being allowed to see him."

"I adopted you, Evan, and that's why your name is different. For God's sake, please, just try to behave when you start school. I really don't want to hear from the principal every five minutes what crazy stunt you've pulled."

"I'm not talking to you anymore," she said, and kept staring into the middle distance because she couldn't actually see a damn thing outside the window.

George kept talking to _her_ , though.

"I've got your birth control prescription in my wallet, and I'm going to have it filled as soon as possible, even though you shouldn't need it for awhile since you're grounded. And as soon as I go to pick up the birth control, you better make sure you actually _use them_ , I mean it, Evan."

She tried to block him out, but there wasn't much else to concentrate on unless she wanted to think about the baby that no longer was or the brother that she might never see again, and neither of those were things she really wanted to dwell on anymore, so in some ways it was easier to let his words wash over her and then immediately forget them.

"If you're good, Evan, over the next few weeks your mother and I have discussed getting a dog."

Evan kept her head down and tilted towards the window and tried not to get excited—it was never going to happen, for one thing, because even if she were good—and she probably wasn't going to be—it wasn't all that likely that George would let his beautiful house be overrun by a dog and all of the toys, treats, and dog hair that came with it. So she kept her mouth shut, and eventually George, too, subsided into silence.

The rest of the car ride was blissfully short and as soon as it pulled to a stop she jumped out, ran for the front door even though she still felt kind of weak in the knees.

By the time George was finished locking everything up for the night, she was in bed, her hand in her panties and touching herself in the tender area that the baby had left behind. She hitched in a breath and surprised herself with the tears that followed—she really hadn't expected to feel bad once it was gone.

She closed her eyes and tried to reach through their mental connection for Mackenzie, but it had been so long since she'd felt even the slightest answering brush from his consciousness that she didn't really expect anything—and it was like a busy signal, that or a disconnected phone line, because there was no emotion she could sense, nothing but more emptiness—and all at once she felt as if she were floating out in space without the suit or the glass bowl to keep her from breathing in a complete lack of oxygen.

It was more than likely that he was asleep, but God, she wished he'd wake up, because she missed him more keenly than ever and felt so much more alone than she had in a very long time. Which made no sense, of course; that baby she hadn't even known about hadn't exactly been company, but for the first time she didn't really think about going out the window and down the trellis in search of excitement and adventure.

With her eyes screwed closed, she tried to catch the wisps of sleep that kept eluding her, and her hand in her panties was hot against her, her sex swollen and aching and she didn't know where it came from, but she was thinking about Mackenzie and his dick and whether he'd let her see it now that they were so much older, whether he'd still think it was just a childish game of comparison, because they were identical in almost every way—but not in that way and it was always something she'd found fascinating.

And whether his dick was bigger than Gary's, who she'd felt every last thick inch of last night, or any of the other boys she'd slept with... and sleep was finally coming closer like a feral cat on the way to being gentled, and just before she gave into it completely, she thought, _I'd never sleep with any boys at all if I had Mackenzie with me._

:::

Mackenzie dreamed. And in his dreams, Evan crawled onto his bed on her hands and knees, straddled him and tossed her black length of curls behind her before unhooking her bra and sliding it down so that her breasts were bare against his chest and her ass was in the air.

He wanted her to rub against his aching dick, but she didn't; he wanted her to kiss him, but she didn't; he wanted to see her face—but he couldn't.

Mackenzie dreamed, and it changed, altered, and he was in bed with Cory, Cory's hand around his dick and yanking hard enough to hurt, and that was about right. He felt his hips buck upward, and he opened his mouth but when he tried to talk nothing escaped but air, and then he was straining for something—the baseball bat was in his hand, and he was wearing his cleats and the ball was coming straight for him, the perfect pitch to knock right out of the park—and then he was naked and lying in the dirt, and Evan was standing above him, but she was dressed from head to foot in black and she was shaking her head—and the ball slammed into his glove.

Mackenzie woke up and tried to shake off the dream, because it hadn't made any sense. He hadn't dreamt about playing baseball naked in years—not since he'd joined the team he was on now and had gotten good enough to start in most of the games.

He forced open crusted over eyelids and managed to blink fuzzily at his digital clock until the blur of red resolved itself into numbers, and realized he had about two hours before he had to get up for the first day of school.

He dropped his arm over his eyes. And immediately remembered the beginning of his dream—remembered it and knew why it had been there, just waiting to ambush him. That fucking shrink—she'd put thoughts in his head he'd never have considered otherwise, and now, the next time he saw Evan—and he was going to see her again—he'd probably picture her naked, spring a boner, and weird them both out.

He let out a sigh and laid very still with the hope that maybe he could fall back to sleep.

And then his stomach growled. Surprised, Mackenzie discovered he had an appetite for the first time in weeks—and he didn't feel nauseous at the thought of eating. Lifting his arm and shoving the blankets and comforter back, he hopped out of bed and padded down to the kitchen.

:::

Evan didn't remember her last thought—she'd been too far gone when she had it. But she woke up less than three hours later, unable to sleep anymore because she'd spent all afternoon into the evening resting at the clinic. She was almost tempted to call Jo-Anne's cell and see if she could meet her somewhere, but that would just be postponing the inevitable, really.

She was grateful that she didn't have to be at school later on in the morning, even though she had no idea what George was going to tell them to get her out of it. And since it was a brand-new school, she really ought to be there, but still, she was awake in the wee hours of the morning and not sure she was going to get any more sleep, so probably better for everyone if she did stay home.

And then, as she rolled towards the wall, she felt it—the slightest brush that suggested Mackenzie was awake too. The thought made her inexplicably sad; even though she wanted to feel him, sometimes the reminder that she could was also a reminder of everything she didn't have.

She stared into the darkness at the splotch of shadow that, when the sun started to come up, would resolve itself into her wall, and whispered to it,

"Mackenzie, I know you can't hear me. I know that—wherever you are, I know you still think about me. Mackenzie, I'm such a stupid idiot. I got myself pregnant—don't worry, I took care of it—but now I feel guilty and so. God, I feel so alone. I need you, Mac. You're the only one—the only person who wouldn't fuck with me. D'you know Mom married again too? Fucker acts like he knows me."

She paused. What was the point? Mackenzie couldn't hear her. He was a million miles away for all that he'd be able to understand words spoken into the dark to no one.

"Fuck it, Mac. I'm just gonna go to school tomorrow; I can do it. I'm not that sore or nothing. Maybe I'll forget about all this by then." And then, softer to the point where even she almost couldn't make out her own words, "I miss you so much. I just want this to be over."

When she turned her head, she discovered the pillow was wet. Touching her face, she felt tears still escaping her eyes, clumping the fringe of her lashes together, and she gulped, throat spasming. Funny, she hadn't really cried over Mackenzie in years.

Her hand was still under the blankets, and she rubbed down over her belly, flat and it would still be flat six months from now, after yesterday, and shoved her fingers back up against her swollen flesh. She could still kind of feel the instruments they'd used.

"Mackenzie, I'm an idiot," she said again, and closed her eyes and fancied she could hear him reply, _No, you're not_.

He'd probably be the only person alive who wouldn't think she was—who would look at her and see _her_ , the real person that she was, not all of the trappings that everyone else saw and paid attention to. George, even her mother—all they saw was the problem child who couldn't be helped, or wouldn't be; they didn't see the part of her that longed for her brother so badly she'd do anything to get back to him. Anything at all—even destroy herself in the process.

And then she heard what Mackenzie would say if he knew her thoughts—and he often did— _You can't do that to yourself, Evan. We will see each other again._

She heard it as clear as if it had been telegraphed via radio, as if Mackenzie were inches away from her ear and speaking directly into her brain, and it made her cry all the harder. Only Mackenzie cared about her. She remembered the last time she'd seen him, how she'd turned to look and said, without words, _I will see you again_.

Mackenzie hadn't had to open his own mouth to repeat the vow back to her. And fuck it, if it killed her, she was going to find him.

:::

Mackenzie devoured so much food out of the fridge that he had a stack of cartons and empty containers surrounding him by the time he was finished, and just as he stood up to toss the lot into the sink, his father walked into the kitchen barefoot with his pajama bottoms dragging across the floor.

"Don't you have school today, son?" he asked, picking up one of the empty cartons and sniffing it. "You ate Chinese food at four in the morning?"

"I couldn't sleep," Mackenzie replied sheepishly. "And I got hungry. I didn't know you were home."

"Couldn't miss my son's first day of high school, could I? Jeez, Mackenzie, is this the reason you haven't been eating dinner?"

"No," Mackenzie said instantly. "Shirley's just making a big deal out of things. I'm not usually up now, I just—I couldn't sleep." He wanted to mention that he'd been thinking about Evan pretty much non-stop all day, but he figured his father would tell Shirley about it, and then he'd be in trouble all over again.

"How's the therapy going? You like Dr. Forbes? Your stepmom says that you gave her a hard time about going back."

"Dad, no offense, but it's four in the morning, as you just pointed out. This is a really whacked out time for a conversation."

"Are your things all ready for school?" His father started helping Mackenzie clear off the table, throwing styrofoam into the garbage can and gathering up crumbs into the scoop of his palm.

Mackenzie dumped his fork into the sink and ran the water to rinse everything, then dried his hands on the dish towel and sat down at the table again. He looked at his father, and it still hurt, looking at that face.

He loved his dad, but it had been his parents' fault that he and Evan were separated; not only that but he hardly saw his father anymore, he worked so hard. It made Mackenzie a little nuts sometimes that the only people he spoke to regularly were Cory and Shirley. And he didn't even particularly want to think about Cory, because thinking about his stepbrother not only reminded him of his sister, but of the fact that he kept treating Cory like he was a viable relationship partner when he had no real interest in continuing that with him.

"Yup," he said finally. "I've had my backpack ready since Wednesday, and I just have to find something to wear."

"Make sure you take a shower, Mac," his father suggested. "You want to look especially nice for your first day—never know who you might meet." He winked and Mackenzie cringed a little on the inside. Sometimes his father forgot that he wasn't Mackenzie's best friend.

And sometimes he also forgot that 'Mac' was Evan's nickname for him, and really only belonged to her—anyone else using it just made him testy and more liable to start yelling.

Which was ironic, considering he always used to be the quiet one, when they were still together. He could remember all the tantrums she threw, and all of the times he kissed her tears away or grabbed her little hands and held them still, all the times and all the ways that he soothed tantrums that had confounded their parents.

"I was planning on it," Mackenzie said at last. "I'm thinking if I can't get back to sleep I might do that now."

"Well, good to hear," his dad replied, then yawned hugely. "I gotta start getting ready for work, so I'll hit the shower first, okay, sport? After breakfast, I think."

"You know..." Mackenzie started, then shook his head. What was the point? When his father gave him a look, his eyebrow raised in question, Mackenzie just shrugged. "Forget it. I gotta get my schedule today, and then work on getting on the baseball team."

"Your things still good?" his dad asked, as he took the orange juice out of the fridge and poured himself a glass. "You need a new bat yet?"

"I don't think so," Mackenzie said. "I barely used it all summer, because we sucked so bad."

"Language," his father reminded half-heartedly, and Mackenzie knew he only said it at all because Shirley would've called him on it if she were around to hear.

"Yeah, so..." Mackenzie gestured to the hallway. "I'm gonna try and get a little more sleep before it's time to get up."

His dad nodded and took a long swig of his orange juice before starting to pull cereal boxes out of the cabinet, and Mackenzie walked out of the room, still seeing his father's face and remembering how much it had hurt those first few months, when he had seen his father and couldn't feel anything but the yawning, bloody wound that Evan's absence had left behind.

As he trudged back to his room, he thought of Evan again, and he was really glad he hadn't mentioned her to his father, because his dream was coming back to him in vivid, disturbing glory, and for once he really just wanted to be alone for awhile—really, truly alone, without Evan's presence in the back of his mind like a living thing he had to keep locked up.

Of course he still missed her. Hell, he never didn't miss her. But he was starting to go a little crazy from thinking about her—that could be the only explanation, and because of it, he wanted to lie down and look up at the little glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling and not think about her, not at all.

But by the time he was back in bed, his stomach pleasantly full and satisfied, he could practically hear Evan in his head.

_Don't talk to me_ , he said to his traitorous thoughts. _You don't know me anymore, Ev. You don't want to know me anymore._

But then he saw the tears glinting in her eyes as she waved good-bye and felt guilty. It wasn't Evan's fault that he was a sick pervert. Hell, it wasn't even his own fault—it was that fucking doctor's fault.

He stuck his head underneath his pillow and thought about sleeping, but he wasn't tired any longer—and why should he be? He'd slept forever. But she was still talking, in his head. Not that he could make out words—that was ridiculous—but Mackenzie knew that Evan was awake. Knew that she was thinking about him.

What would she think of him, if she knew what direction his dreams had taken?

:::

Evan woke up Friday morning to the cheerful sound of breakfast downstairs. Looking at her clock, she discovered she was going to be more than a little late for the first day of school if she didn't hurry up and get dressed.

But when she got to the kitchen, not only was George and Laurel at the table, but George's daughter Meredith. Evan stopped at the doorway, unsure, because she'd only met Meredith once or twice and while she didn't dislike her, she didn't know her all that well, either. But as she shifted from foot to foot, Meredith looked up from her toast and smiled, offered a wave.

"Hi, Evan!" she said in a welcoming tone. She patted the empty seat at the table. "Come have breakfast with us."

But Evan had to leave—she had barely enough time to get to school as it was. As much as it killed her to ask, she turned to George and said,

"Hey, George, do you think you could drive me to school?"

The conversation came to a shocked halt. Everyone started looking everywhere but at her. And finally, Meredith said, "I can drive you, if you like."

Evan actually preferred that to George; Meredith was mostly an unknown quantity, but maybe she'd remember being fourteen-going-on-fifteen. Maybe she'd understand what it was like to chafe under George's constant supervision. His parental guidance that always seemed to go too far. Evan stamped on that thought—George had never really given her a reason to think that he was anything but genuine. He was so nice she actually liked hurting his feelings just because it was so easy.

_And because he won't help you find Mackenzie_ , whispered a tiny voice. She shrugged her schoolbag higher on her shoulder.

"If it's not too much trouble," she said, and Meredith gave her a blinding smile full of dental work that must have cost her father a fortune. Perfect teeth—what else had he done for his daughter? What would he be willing to do for her, Evan? And why didn't it include reuniting her with her twin?

"Not at all," Meredith said, and her chair scraped the floor as she stood up. "Come on, it'll be like a trip back in time, seeing the old high school. I bet it looks totally different now."

Evan followed her out to her car, a tiny expensive sports car no doubt paid for by George, and Evan slipped into the bucket seat and fastened the buckle.

"I've never been," Evan admitted. "I'm just starting this year."

"Watch out for Mr. Chester," Meredith advised. "I don't know if he's still there, but he teaches English and Spanish and boy, does he have a chip on his shoulder. Let me tell you, if you made any kind of error on anything, you had to get out the six inch ruler—and it had to be a six inch—and make one pencil line through the mistake. Number two pencil, of course. Oh! And you know what?" Meredith was chattering happily, so Evan leaned back against the seat and listened, enjoying the ride. "Once, I had to recite this poem for class, you know? And I was so nervous! I thought for sure I'd forget the lines, so I spoke too fast. Ha! Anyway, Mr. Chester immediately told me to start over, and, get this: he said I 'killed it'. Heh, isn't that something? Wow, I haven't thought about that in years."

Evan chanced a look at Meredith out of the corner of her eye. She knew Meredith had her own life, and it was unusual for her to stop by her father's house, even though she clearly loved him enough to worship the ground he walked on.

"Is it hard?" she asked. "High school?"

"Let me give you another piece of advice," Meredith said candidly. "If I were you, I'd keep my head down, try not to act up too much. My father is a great guy, Evan, but even he has limits to his patience. If you keep up the high school hijinks, he'll find a way to punish you. And don't fall into the wrong crowd: don't smoke pot if someone who's older offers it to you. For one thing, they are usually trying to get the freshman in trouble. And for another, the juniors and seniors especially might spike it with something. Stick to the people you know, to your class. Don't sleep with anyone older, either. One of my friends tried that when we were freshman, and she got the clap, and he got jail time. It's a stupid thing to do, Evan—don't you forget that."

Evan's mind was already reeling. Meredith talked a lot. But her advice might be worth something, even if most free advice was worth what you paid for it. She filed away the information as Meredith pulled up in front of the school.

"Oh and one more thing," Meredith called as Evan was exiting the car. "Don't get pregnant, Evan. My father might kill you."

"Did he kill _you_?" Evan asked archly, and slammed the door. But Meredith's little sports car apparently had power windows, because she rolled the passenger one down with a button.

"I didn't get pregnant," Meredith said, sounding much more serious. "But my father married my mother because he got her pregnant, and then her parents threw her out. It wasn't a happy marriage, Evan. And so it's a touchy subject with him. That's a nerve—don't get on his nerves, Evan."

"Listen," Evan said, "I gotta go, I can hear the bell."

"That's the first warning bell," Meredith told her. "You have ten minutes to get into homeroom—do you need any help finding your way around? Because I don't have anything to do this morning."

Evan wanted to accept, but she also knew that it would just prolong the torture of talking about George. Evan wasn't sure that Meredith knew as much about her father as she thought she did. And she was growing tired of the sound of Meredith's voice, even if the girl seemed nice enough. Kind of in the same sickening way as her father.

"Nah, I have a floor plan," Evan said. "And I have to stop and get my schedule anyway, so—" And just like that Evan's throat seized up, her heart tripped over itself and threw itself into overdrive, her palms went sweaty, and every single thought in her head came to the same screeching halt.

Across the gravel, standing on one of the sidewalks between a perfectly manicured circle of grass, was a tall boy with bright blond hair that glinted like precious metal in the sun. He was built just like—but it couldn't be. It just couldn't. He couldn't have been this close all along and she didn't know it. From a distant galaxy, she heard Meredith speaking. She forced her tongue to work, swollen as it was in her mouth, her lips dry and cracking.

"Ev?" Meredith was saying. "Hey space cadet, you don't wanna do that in class. You okay? Are you sick? I could take you back home and—"

Evan turned around and looked at Meredith, with her strawberry gold hair cut to her chin and her light green eyes, the freckles splashed liberally across her face. Did she—?

"You already knew," Evan said, anger vibrating her vocal cords. "You knew I—"

"Only that Daddy said you were sick, still," Meredith said, palms up and outward. "I swear that's it, Evan, I'm not screwing with you. What happened? Did—" And then she looked out over the courtyard, filled with milling students, some clearly confused freshman, some obviously well-versed upperclassmen. "Did you already start crushing on some guy, is that it?" Meredith asked, and Evan shook her head immediately. Probably so fast it was suspicious.

"Just thought I saw my friend Jo-Anne," Evan said. It suddenly struck her that the next time she saw Mackenzie, she was going to have to pretend they didn't know each other. Because if anyone suspected—anyone—it might get back to their mother. Their father. Even in college they couldn't presume to be safe from that.

"You had such a look on your face," Meredith commented. "I used to look at Leonardo DiCaprio like that. Man, I always wished he'd just show up and sweep me off my feet."

_She'd looked like she had a crush? Like Meredith used to look at a celebrity she liked—Evan had looked like that when thinking about Mackenzie?_

"Nah, it's nothing," Evan said. "Look, I gotta go." And she ran away from the car, away from the probing questions. Meredith probably didn't know that she had a twin, but that didn't mean she had to risk it by mentioning him. She always got into enough trouble as it was just for maintaining that she had a brother, and that she had a right to see him.

She pushed her way through the crowd, but she didn't see the crop of metallic shimmer hair anymore. She'd always teased Mac about how ridiculously romance novel his hair looked in direct sunlight, and he'd always responded by tugging on her curls so that they'd spring back into shape. Saying, _as if you don't have classic heroine hair._

Her bag slipped on her shoulder, and she shoved it back up and started to walk inside the school. Wolf whistles followed her, and she wondered just who they were whistling at, and whether it was the upperclassmen she was supposed to avoid.

:::

Mackenzie had been standing on the sidewalk for a good ten minutes when he turned around, spied the shiny blue car with the redhead practically hanging out the window, talking to a girl with a waterfall of black curls winding down her back.

Mackenzie knew those curls. He would know them anywhere. He flipped open his bag and scrounged around inside it for a pencil, wanting to run to her and throw his arms around her, but he was here, in an unfamiliar school, surrounded by unfamiliar people, and he couldn't just randomly hug someone he wasn't supposed to know.

And Cory, at least, knew that Mackenzie's only friends—if one could call them that—were on his baseball team. Cory was standing right next to him, besides. Cory would make some kind of comment if Mackenzie walked over to the girl. She still had her back to him, but her mini-skirt fitted to her round ass just right, and as she spoke to the redhead in the car, she tossed her head like she was angry, sending black curls bouncing and fluttering in the wind. It had to be Evan.

And then, just as soon as he thought it, he realized he couldn't say hello to her anyway. He couldn't let anyone know that he knew her. And if it was Evan... Mackenzie had to get her a message somehow. Something to tell her not to let on that he was her twin brother.

Mackenzie didn't explore too deeply why he was even more afraid of anyone else finding out than the simple surface concern of his father—or God, even worse, Shirley—finding out. He came up with a pencil, and grabbed Cory's arm to get his attention.

"If I give you something, can you swear not to read it and give it to that girl?" Mackenzie pointed her out, just as she turned slightly and he caught his first glimpse of her classic profile since the last time he'd seen her, almost three years ago. And heaven's fuck, she was pretty.

"Sure," Cory said. "Why her?"

"Cause she's hot," Mackenzie improvised. "I wanna ask her out."

He didn't look at Cory's face; he didn't dare. But he scribbled the cryptic message on the crumpled receipt he'd found in his jacket pocket and handed it to Cory. By the time Cory started walking across the drive, though, she was already halfway into the building.

"Cory—" he called. "Never mind, I'll do it myself later."

And then he heard, a long slow feminine drawl,

"Evan Raleigh Banks, you do look fine."

Banks? They'd changed her name? What the bleeding fuck was that all about? He turned to the girl who'd spoken, a knockout with blonde hair and lips that were slathered with way too much lipstick. It didn't seem to matter, though, because Evan squealed—the first sound she'd made that he could hear—and threw an arm around the taller girl. It was Evan. He'd know that squeal of delight anywhere, even though he knew—and probably no one else did—that it was feigned.

The blonde, with big tits and probably a head as vacant as the size of her tits, whirled Evan into her arms, tight around his sister, and plastered a kiss right on Evan's mouth. Evan yanked her head back, though, to the side, and extricated herself.

"Not here, Jo-Anne," she said, and Mackenzie's mouth watered. He thirsted for more of her voice. To touch her skin, assure himself she was real. It was all almost too much to take in—Evan was here. His sister, only a few feet away from him. How much it killed him not to be able to run up to her and hug her till she squeaked, lifting her up and swinging her around.

And she was kissing girls, which was weird, when he thought about it. He didn't really remember Evan having any particular predilection for girls. She'd never—as long as he'd known her—shown any sort of preference whatsoever, and he knew—well, used to know—a girl who'd kissed another on the mouth in second grade. That was precociousness, and knowing what you really wanted out of life. Evan, on the other hand, had always liked playing with the little boys as much as she liked her dresses.

He smiled, remembering.

_"Come on," she'd whined, picking at threads on the hem of her sundress. "Let me play too."_

_The other boys, who were older than both of them, had grabbed at her arms, held her still and taunted her. Mackenzie had scowled at them, and they'd backed off, but Evan wouldn't be deterred._

_"Look," she said, lifting her dress and exposing herself. She'd obviously taken off her panties somewhere along the line. At five, she was a terror—their mother despaired of keeping her decently clothed. "Look, I could be just like you." She pulled her dress up over her head, stood there naked. The boys stared, even though they were only eight and nine._

_"Stupid girl, didn't anyone ever teach you—"_

_Mackenzie grabbed his sister's arm, yanked her against him so that she was partially covered by the folds of his own clothes and his body. "You can't play with them," he told her firmly, but she struggled. She was gearing up for a tantrum, Mackenzie could tell. The boys snickered._

_One of them stepped forward._

_"Let her play with us," he said, and Mackenzie glared fiercely. He had some idea of what they'd do._

_"She's gonna play with me," he'd said, and they'd given him a funny look, but shrugged._

_"No great loss," the nine-year-old said, and tugged on his friend's arm. "We can play with your sister, Jake," he said. Jake gave him a look, but they started to walk away._

_As soon as they were out of sight, Mackenzie stuffed Evan back into her dress._

_"Are you stupid?" he asked. "Really, are you damaged in the head?"_

_And then he pulled her behind the house in the shade of the eaves and worked his elastic shorts down. His underwear next. His little penis nestled there, and Evan had reached for it with hands already poised to grasp._

_"No, stupid," he said, and restrained her wrists. "I'm just showing you. You're not like them. They'd hurt you."_

_"Wouldn't," she said with the type of confidence Mackenzie would see her utilise to get her own way pretty much all throughout their years together. He slid his shorts back up and smoothed down her dress._

_"Yeah they would," he said, and threaded his fingers through hers, towing her back towards the house._

_That night, she'd climbed into bed with him like always, but her fingers had wandered down his belly. He'd stopped her, of course, because that was just wrong._

Mackenzie stared at his sister now. It had been wrong back then, when he hadn't even realized just what it meant. It was wrong now.

But he found himself actually wanting to ask her out. It had meant to be a ruse to get Cory to give her a message, but now he wanted her. He wanted to—

Mackenzie set fire to that thought and watched it turn to ash. That was not a train he was going to be getting on.

And then Evan walked into the room clearly marked as his homeroom. He couldn't believe his luck. He was going to get introduced to her, and then he could talk to her without looking suspicious or creepy.

The blonde—Jo-Anne—followed her in, but after a moment, just as Mackenzie made his way to the propped-open door, she walked out backwards, almost stumbling into him. He sidestepped at the last moment, and the blonde smiled at him, still too much shiny lipstick, and took off down the hallway.

He entered the classroom, the place where they'd get their schedules and information where to buy their books, and deliberately sat himself behind Evan so she couldn't see him. He didn't know for sure—she was a pretty good actress, but he didn't want to take any chances—that she wouldn't erupt into a paroxysm of joy if she found out he was in her homeroom.

It was still some kind of mindfuck to be in the same room as Evan. To be this close to her. What were the chances? He'd never been good at statistics, but it seemed unlikely that after running, he and Evan would wind up in the same city: Greenefield, Ohio.

He lined up his pencils on the desk, even though he knew it wouldn't be too long before they were released to find their first class, and stared attentively up at the teacher, his hands folded in front of him. He'd thought about her all night—maybe he'd conjured her up. Maybe she didn't really exist at all and he was completely loony now, gone straight round the bend without collecting two hundred dollars, hallucinating.

The teacher's name was scrawled across the white board they used as chalkboards now, a Ms. Fornahan. Mackenzie had the odd feeling that if he thought about her name long enough, he could come up with some kind of illicit joke.

The bell rang, and the teacher settled her glasses more firmly on her nose.

"All right," she said. "I'm Ms. Fornahan, and I'm going to call roll every day to make sure you all show up to homeroom. I can't control whether you play hooky from your classes, but I wouldn't advise it."

Mackenzie felt his mind start to wander, and he wondered if it'd go to lunch waiting for her to get to him, and forget to come back. The thought made his lips want to turn up, so he bit his cheek hard—it was never a good idea to laugh in a class with a teacher you'd only just met.

He listened to her drone on, until she came to a name that made him sit up, startled.

"Evan Raleigh Banks?" the teacher called, and Evan raised her hand.

"Here," she said clearly, and that was how Mackenzie knew that he wasn't just imagining the whole thing.

:::

Evan started doodling in her notebook once her name had been called, and she wasn't at all paying attention until all of a sudden she heard a hitched gasp, a pause, and the teacher slowly stopped.

"Mackenzie Stuart?" she said at last. "Are you daydreaming, sir?"

Evan was... hearing things. She couldn't possibly actually be in the same room as her brother. That was crazy talk—that was Evan losing her mind and waking up in a white room with no recollection of how she'd gotten there. Sure, she'd seen the blond hair. But lots of boys had blond hair and how could he possibly be here?

Maybe the abortion drugs had done something funny to her brain. She looked down and realized her pen had stopped on the paper, leaving a blot of ink and an uneven trail. She was so careful, though, to do her best not to react. She couldn't give them away.

This way, they could start over. They could be friends, and no one would think it was strange. No one would know that Mackenzie was her twin brother, and that way their parents couldn't ever find out. Because Evan had no illusions left: if her mother found out Mackenzie went to the same school as Evan did, she'd find a way to switch Evan to a different school. Hell, she might even leave George if she thought it was necessary to run away from their past again.

If she believed that Evan could somehow still see Mackenzie around town—not that she ever had, so whatever—then Laurel probably would just pack them up and sneak out in the middle of the night.

Evan wasn't really worried about leaving George—she still didn't like him much—but if Mackenzie was here, she definitely didn't want to leave.

But she looked up and met the teacher's eyes, fixed on her. _Oh, shit._ What had that gasp been for?

"Evan," Ms. Fornahan said. "Do you know Mackenzie? You kind of resemble each other."

"No," she said at once. "I just moved here."

"Mackenzie?"

Her brother hesitated, and at first Evan thought it was a tell, that he was going to give them away, then he said, his voice a ribbon of uneven sound,

"Nope. Never seen her before. But you know how it is," he said, and his voice had the affectation of a stoner, which was pretty funny, because Evan was sure that she'd probably taken a lot more drugs and smoked a lot more pot than Mackenzie ever had—or ever would. "People've got lookalikes all over. It's kinda weird to run into one though."

The teacher was obviously measuring them up, but finally she shrugged.

"It's not important, of course," she said. "I just thought maybe you were cousins or something and didn't realize you went to the same school."

"She could be my cousin, I suppose," Mackenzie drawled, "but if she is, I've still never met her."

"Well, let's move on, shall we?" the teacher said, and went back to calling out names.

Evan felt a little thrill uncurl in her belly. They'd done it—passed muster. And he was right there, only a few seats behind her. She felt her hands trembling and set down her pen.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur, pages and pages of paper being passed out, booklists and schedules and more floor plans, and then the bell was ringing.

Evan leapt out of her seat, and got to the door at the same time Mackenzie did, but he didn't look at her.

But he didn't need to. She could sense what he was saying to her just the same. He was saying, _good job_. He was just as aware of her, so she sent her own message back: _Thank you. Oh my God, Mackenzie!_

He smiled at his friend next to him, but Evan knew it was for her, just like she heard the words as if he spoke them aloud.

_Oh my God, Evan. It's unbelievable._

And it was.

:::

Mackenzie didn't have any more classes with Evan before lunch. In a way he was glad—he didn't think he'd be able to concentrate when all he could think about was finally getting close enough to give his sister a hug. It was already becoming apparent that he would have to sneak around to have any kind of meaningful contact with her, and from their exchange on their way to their first class, he was sure she understood that as well.

Still, his heart lit up as soon as he saw her in the lunch line, and he ignored Cory—walked right past him like he didn't see him—so that he could sidle up to Evan and lean over her shoulder to see what she was getting for lunch. He was surprised—she had some of the most expensive options on her tray. Mackenzie knew that he couldn't afford most of those things, and he doubted that his mother could either.

He wanted to ask her about that, but there would have to be time for that later. Under the pretense of staring at the food choices, he muttered in her ear,

"The baseball diamond, under the bleachers, during free period?" He happened to know that people had trysts there all the time—it wouldn't look strange, because people would just assume they were hooking up if they saw them. And Mackenzie was fairly certain that freshman hooked up all the time—if nothing else, because she was hot.

"All right, the peas too," she said, and Mackenzie knew that was his answer. He also knew, as he picked up an apple and looked for other things that might be appetizing enough to eat, that sooner or later they were going to have to find a place to be alone where no other people would see them.

Because they had conversations they needed to have that couldn't be overheard. Like how she was doing and whether she'd missed him. _Most importantly whether she'd missed him._

It was going to be weird, though, if other students always thought they were hooking up. Sister and all. He scratched away the thought that he'd already whacked off to thinking about her, or dreamt about her that night. She didn't need to know that. No one needed to know that.

He piled some bread on his tray next to his apple and grabbed a little carton of milk, then waited for the line to move. By the time it was his turn, Evan was long gone and Cory was jabbing him in the ribs, asking if they could sit together.

Mackenzie felt bad. Not that he hadn't before, but before he'd been so miserable that anyone else feeling bad hadn't really registered, but now he knew that Cory was going to be really hurt if he started macking on Evan—and any attention he paid her was going to look like that, since no one knew their true relationship.

"Wanna go play video games after school?" Cory was asking, when Mackenzie tuned back into that channel. He just couldn't stop thinking about Evan. How pretty she looked. How different from his imagination, yet at the same time so much better.

"Sure," he said, then backpedaled. "Wait," he said. "I'm sorry but I was gonna get in a few swings on the diamond first. Maybe tomorrow? Or the day after?"

When Cory gave him a strange look, he relented.

"Look, Cor, I'm sorry, but that girl?—" he pointed, "—she's caught my interest big time and I asked if I could meet up with her after school already."

And then Mackenzie realized that wasn't even the truth; he'd said free period, right? But he looked at Cory again.

"Cory, please do me a favor?" Mackenzie slapped his tray down on the table and swung his legs over the bench just as Cory did the same. "Can you cover for me, if I have to stay after or whatever? Because I really want that girl."

"So does everyone else," Cory said morosely. "Frankly I don't see it."

Mackenzie didn't point out why; Cory already knew and Mackenzie wasn't stupid enough to say it out loud while they were still in school.

"It's because she's pretty," Mackenzie said, and watched the boys that just flocked around her. There was something else, too—Evan wasn't just pretty, she was giving off vibes like she'd take anything. Mackenzie didn't like that. He didn't like it at all. He got up and shoved his tray over to Cory. "You can finish it, if you like," he said, and made his way over to Evan's table.

Time to establish some dominance over her. To remind her who was older, and who needed to look after her—who needed to make sure she didn't do stupid things. Once again he wondered just what she'd gotten herself into while they'd been separated.

From the looks of things, she was definitely entertaining both boys and girls, and Mackenzie didn't like that one bit. Didn't like the implications of it, either. His sister was not a whore, and she was not about to be labeled one at her new school.

Which put Mackenzie in the uncomfortable position of laying claim to her in such a way that would make her seem unavailable to all of the other piranhas in the sea. It meant he was going to have to get romantic—and that was the last thing he wanted to do, simply because of _how much_ he wanted to do it. It was a conundrum.

He finally stepped up behind her and put his hand on her shoulder. She didn't even startle, and Mackenzie knew she had already felt him walking towards her before he'd even reached her table.

"Hey," he said. He sat down next to her, more than the other boys had dared to do yet. And some of them were sophomores and juniors. Mackenzie smiled at her. "My name is Mackenzie," he said, and laughed inwardly—as if she didn't know that. As if they hadn't been two halves of a whole since they'd been born. As if the whorls on their hands didn't match when they put their hands flat together.

"Evan," she replied, cool as anything. Mackenzie was proud of her. Still, though, he sensed despair as if it were burnt into her very skin. He slid closer to her on the bench.

"Can I buy you coffee sometime?" he asked, and watched the way the other boys started to fade off into the distance. But before Mackenzie could feel triumph, the blonde showed up—Jo-something-or-other—and sat down on Evan's other side.

"Hi, sweetheart," the blonde said, bussing Evan's cheek with an almost-kiss. "You wanna go out to a bitchin' party with me tonight?"

"No, she doesn't," Mackenzie said, and Evan threw him a disgusted look. Great, so she was a party girl. That made his heart feel like it was trying to occupy a space too small for it. He struggled down a swallow.

"I'd love to," Evan said, and Mackenzie's heart did more funny inexplicable things, until Evan went on, "but I'd also like to get to know Mackenzie. If you know what I mean."

Jo-Anne's eyes widened and then she grinned, every tooth showing, a couple of them crooked. "I get it, I understand, say no more," she said, laughing. "Unless you wanna bring him with."

Evan turned to Mackenzie.

"Come with me?" she said, and Mackenzie almost bit off his tongue. He'd thought he would have to somehow convince Evan of their wisest course of action, but within seconds she'd already insinuated to someone who might be a girlfriend that she was thinking about making Mackenzie her next conquest.

Just how much sexual experience did his sister have, anyway?

"All right," he said. "What time?"

"We'll pick you up," Jo-Anne said, but Mackenzie shook his head quickly. Too much chance of his father or Shirley seeing who else was in the car.

"No," he said. "Just tell me where it is and I'll be there. I can bike over, or get my stepbrother to drive me if I have to."

"It's gonna be a high school party," Jo-Anne said to Evan. "So it might turn out to be lame. But you should still come—and you should _definitely_ bring Delicious here."

Mackenzie was bemused; he'd never been called delicious before, much less as a moniker. He curled in closer to Evan and inhaled the long-missed scent of her.

She turned and twirled her finger through a few strands of his hair.

"I hope you don't mind," she said, and it would've sounded innocuous to anyone else, but Mackenzie knew what she meant.

"I was going to suggest it," he replied, and she gifted him with her smile, the one he'd been dreaming of seeing again for years. Impulsively he pinched her side, and she giggled.

Mackenzie could feel envious eyes on him from all over the cafeteria, but he didn't turn to look.

None of those boys could ever know what it was like to be entwined with her soul. Mackenzie had claims to her no one else could ever have.

He felt pretty smug about that.

:::

By the time it was his free period, Mackenzie was dying to see Evan again, this time alone. He hadn't been with her alone in so much longer than he cared to remember—he was already planning on tossing his calendar—and he was about five minutes away from being in her presence again, this time with hopefully less admirers. He wanted to know how they all knew she might give them the time of day, considering that she was not as pretty as some of the girls in the school.

He felt disloyal even thinking such a thing, but the truth was there, under his skin. Of course, he thought she was gorgeous, the most beautiful person he'd ever seen. But he also remembered the way she'd always been passed over for prettier girls when they were younger, and he didn't think she'd changed that much—so that meant somehow the sharks in the water called high school had scented blood on her.

Mackenzie didn't think it was all that encouraging that every time a guy stopped her in the hallway—and every time he saw her in the halls, all day, she was usually planted in some corner with some guy—she would give him her entire attention, as if she thought, no matter how much of a loser he might be, that he was the best thing that had ever happened to her.

_I'm the best thing that's ever happened to her_ , Mackenzie thought, trying not to sound jealous, but even to himself he could tell it was a lie. He didn't think he could convince anyone else of it, either, unless maybe it was Evan herself. And then probably only because she loved him, missed him—craved him—dare he hope?

For the millionth time that day Mackenzie rearranged his already-untucked shirt to cover the evidence of what thinking about Evan too much did to him, especially now that he'd seen her again. In less than a few minutes he was going to be standing next to her, talking to her, and he didn't want to weird her out by having a boner while he did it—even if she was probably used to causing that reaction in every guy she met by now.

But not in her brother, Jesus. She didn't need to know that she could even make his dick stand up with attention for her. His jeans pulled across the ridge of his erection, and even though all he wanted was to break out into a run and get to the bleachers that much faster, he ducked behind a tree and adjusted himself so that at least he could walk. Not that he could run, with a hard-on, but that was just details.

In any event, it didn't matter, because he was on the green of the baseball diamond now, and he could see the bleachers at the other side, and a solitary figure tucked underneath them. It had to be Evan. He hoped it was Evan. He was anxious to see her again and he'd just seen her at lunch, which was like, less than two hours ago—not that his mind (or his body) cared about that fact. He was in a constant state of hyper-awareness of her presence, even when she was all the way across the school from him. He could sense her everywhere he went—which explained why it had been getting so much stronger in the last weeks—and he hated knowing she might be just around the corner but that she wasn't cradled in his arms, where she belonged.

He also hated the fact that come Monday, he had another appointment with Dr. Forbes, and he was going to have to tell her something about how school was going, and figure out some explanation for the euphoria that was plaguing him just as much as thoughts of her did. Because, dammit, he was happy for the first time in years in a way he hadn't been in longer than he could remember. And the doctor was bound to notice that, which made Mackenzie kind of antsy even as he drew closer and closer to where the figure was standing—from this distance he could make out sparkling black curls in the sunlight and breasts that were quite a bit bigger than he'd pictured, even though they were by no means huge.

He tried to turn his mind from her breasts, but trying to take a teenager's mind from boobs is like trying to bring down the moon with some dental floss, and Mackenzie knew he was failing miserably at it: he stared at her chest and tried to gauge, as he walked, whether she was a B cup or a C cup. He was pretty sure Jo-Anne—her blonde friend—was a D cup, and Evan wasn't quite that big, so... he trailed off even in his own mind, though, because he was within shouting distance now and he was thinking about the fact that the sun was striping across her body from the bleachers above, and a beam was crossing directly over her chest. His dick liked that far too much—man, he so wanted his money back when it came to that doctor. Even if it had technically been his father's money; whatever, he wanted those thoughts out of his head.

Anyway—Evan wasn't wearing a bra. Or if she was, then Mackenzie was going to fund an experiment to try and bring down the moon with some dental floss and maybe some toothpicks.

"Mackenzie!" she cried, and he closed his eyes for a minute, just breathing and soaking in the sound of her voice, the beautiful way her lips shaped his name. _It had been so goddamn long._

"Evan," he called back to her, and he really would've taken off at a run except that now, in her immediate vicinity, his cock hardened up all the way and he felt his jeans strain with every step. It was wicked uncomfortable—he was going to have blue balls by the time this conversation was over, and there was something more than just a little bit wrong with that. Not least of which because she was his sister—but also because he didn't have that much sexual experience of his own, and he didn't think—not even that time that he'd turned his own crank thinking about her—that he'd ever been this hard. In his life. And he was about to turn fifteen, so, yeah, he was a fucking teenager.

He ducked under the bleachers and before he even got a step towards her, she was barrelling into his arms, head-first, her arms swinging around his back and her lips pressing moist right into the hollow of his neck. Fuck, but he hadn't realized he was that much taller than she was. Well, good: at least they didn't look like identical twins if he was taller.

He tried to hold his lower body stiff away from her, but she sort of melded right into his arms until her body was everywhere he could possibly feel, and he bit down on his lip and hoped she didn't feel the hardness that was right now probably digging into her thigh. If she did, though, she didn't mention it; she just kept clinging to him like a limpet and breathing against his skin, the heat of it making his neck sweat at the center of his collarbone.

"Oh my God," she said, and her lips moved like inadvertent kisses across his skin. "Mackenzie, God. I can't even believe it's really you. Am I dreaming?" She tipped her head up and back, and her mouth, with lip-gloss coated lips, was right within kissing distance. He had to strangle himself with thoughts of baseballs stats to keep from leaning in and taking what she probably didn't even know she was offering. Well, to be fair, what it looked like she was offering.

"No," he said, "I don't think so." She searched his eyes, hers clear and bright and not filmed over by drugs—thank God—and he buried his hands in her hair, curled his fingers in till he was gripping the back of her skull, the nape of her neck. It didn't seem strange to touch her that way. It felt completely normal, actually, which would've caused louder warning bells if he weren't too busy listening to the very basic biology of her breathing.

"I thought we were going to have to wait forever," she said, and it was uttered a little breathlessly. "God, oh my God, Mackenzie," she repeated, and then her lips were back to pressing scars into his skin. He wasn't sure he would ever be able to touch his neck again without feeling the imprint of her lips there.

He lowered his head until his nose was against her hair, the curls tickling the inside of it, and murmured, "Evan. Seeing you is like... like going to sleep in a grave and waking up in your bedroom."

She laughed, the little hiccough she did every time she was genuinely amused still there—God, he'd missed that sound so much—and said,

"Way to woo a girl, Mac. I mean, really, that's like, the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me!"

"Shut up, twit," he said, but he could barely muster the annoyance that she was bound to expect. He was so in love with seeing her again, touching her, that calling her names all of a sudden took a backseat. "How are you?" He raised his head and brought his hands around to cup at her face, tilting it back up so he could read her eyes—so that he could fall into them and drown, much like the way his rat when he was twelve had fallen into the toilet and drowned.

"Fine," she said at once, and he could see, even without having to dig very deep, that she was lying. She couldn't lie to him—he didn't have to read her eyes to know when she was. He could tell she was lying even when he couldn't see her.

"Bullshit," he said, and if his thumbs stroked a little too tenderly over her cheekbones, so what?

She sighed.

"I should've known," she said, trying to turn her face, but he held her still. All she could do was lower her chin a little, which made curls bounce and drop in to cover her eyes. But he didn't need to see her eyes, yeah? He could just reach right into her heart and pull out the truth of a statement.

"Yeah, Jesus, I know it's been a long time," he said, "but that doesn't mean anything's really changed." _Except all the things that have_ , he thought, and searched for some mental cardboard boxes to pack those thoughts up in. "What's the matter?"

"I'm an idiot," she said, directing the words at his chest. "And a whore."

"That's not true," Mackenzie said, and tried to raise her eyes back to his. "I mean it, Ev. Shut up, don't say things like that about yourself."

"Even if they're true?" she asked, and he could tell from her tone, from the way a tear slipped down over his fingers that she really believed that.

"I don't buy that," Mackenzie said. "Not about my sister. Not about you, Ev. Look, we all make mistakes and—"

"I had an abortion," she blurted out, still speaking to the general vicinity of his heart. It was the funniest thing—it should have been shocking, should have made him question her and everything he knew about her, but all it really did was cement how much he loved her. Because he didn't feel even the tiniest bit angry or disgusted, mostly just sad that she'd had to go through that. Even if she'd put herself in that position—well, he still couldn't blame her. All he could do was hold her even closer as she started to cry, sobbing herself out against his chest, and so it wasn't the bright and happy reunion he'd been expecting, but just having his arms around her, being able to actually feel her shoulders shake with her tears, made him happier than he'd been in... possibly ever.

"It's all right," he said, and he knew she would able to sense that he meant it in much the same way he could sense when she was lying. And she felt so good against him, her hair smelling faintly of wildflowers and even her tears—turning her face wet and making her nose run—were endearing in an inexplicably attractive sort of way. She'd always been like this, too: so quick to any kind of emotion. He hadn't seen her in almost three years and he still remembered everything about her, like it had been just yesterday that he'd said good-bye to her. Like it had been just yesterday that he'd walked home with her from school.

This was a prime example of it, too: she had been so incandescent when he'd first gotten to her, eyes shining with joy, and now she was crying like she was going to die if she didn't, but Mackenzie knew that if he just held her close and whispered soothing things into her hair every once in awhile that pretty soon she'd be smiling again.

The one good thing, though, about her grief was that it withered his erection. She hadn't said anything about it, but he was still glad it was gone—maybe he'd only gotten hard because he'd been thinking about her in comparison with her friend, and in doing so had been thinking about Jo-Anne, who was a hottie enough to incite that kind of reaction.

"I'm so sorry," she sniffled, sucking in great heaps of oxygen through her mouth. Her breath was sweaty and clogged with the feel of her tears now, and—fuck. He still wanted to kiss her.

"For what?" he asked, and ran one hand down her back, then swept it back up again. He started repeating that action, trying to calm her.

"I can't believe I did something so stupid," she said. Mackenzie drew her in even closer and uttered the words he knew would break the spell.

"Well, geez, I can, doofus," he told her, and she snorted once, choked on a hiccup, and started to laugh until her breasts jiggled against his chest, and—well, fuck. That brought his cock back to stiffness, only now it was bound to be even more obvious. How could she miss it? Or was she just being polite? He was tempted to stammer out an explanation, but he clamped his mouth shut, instead; if he could tell when she was lying, she could most certainly tell when _he_ was, just the same.

"For fuck's sake," she said, laughter turning to helpless giggles. "Way to make a girl feel really special."

"Somebody has to do it," Mackenzie said. "I mean, really. Who else is gonna do it? It's such a chore, but—"

"Oh, I hate you," she said, but she was looking at him now, her eyes turned limpid from the tears and her lashes clumped up and clinging to her lids. "I hate you," she repeated, then leaned in and nestled her face against his chest, and said, "but I love you so much more."

"Yeah, I love you too, Ev," he said, and stroked his fingers through her hair. "I love you too."

"Doesn't explain the—"

"Don't say it," Mackenzie said, and she huffed out another laugh.

"Oh damn," she said, and finally stepped back out of his embrace. "I think free period's almost over and all we accomplished was getting snot all over your shirt."

"It can only be an improvement," Mackenzie quipped. "My stepmother bought this shirt, and you know, it looks a lot better with tear splotches and snot, lemme tell you."

"Must not have been what you were looking forward to," she said. "Finding me again only to find me with about forty thousand more issues and enough baggage to fill up Grand Central Station."

"I don't mind it," he said. "Evan, I could be dying and the only thing I could think of to want—to regret—would be not having enough time with you and your issues."

"Okay, now that's romantic," she said, and patted his chest, accidentally hitting his nipple with her fingers in the process. He had to bite almost through his tongue to keep from hissing in pleasure at what that did not only to his nipple—who knew they were that sensitive?—but also the signal it sent to his cock. "Even if it's a little weird."

But it was the queerest thing: she didn't sound weirded out at all. And he—he could tell that, just like he could read every other emotion of hers like words on a page.

And then the bell rang. He grabbed her, picked her up, and swung her around before kissing her forehead and setting her back on her feet. She tossed him a smile and took off running, curls like black streamers behind her, and he was almost late for his next class because he was too busy staring at her to start running himself until half the time between the bells was gone.

:::

Evan kicked her feet back and forth under the desk, barely aware of the teacher droning on and on about history. She wasn't good at it—dates never stuck and names were always scrambled when she tried to remember them—so instead, she had her notebook open and was drawing.

She couldn't stop remembering how she'd basically snotted all over Mackenzie the first chance she got with him alone, or how she had told him—just spewed it out like vomit—her secret. Somehow she had known she wouldn't be able to hold it back, and he had reacted—God, he had been like he always used to be, a rock, stoic and unwavering and he didn't judge her, didn't even complain about the snot on his shirt. Just made a joke, like he always would have.

Having Mackenzie back was like a dream. Having him still be the same person she'd left—that was like a miracle. And as she drew, she started a figure that was lying on its back, legs spread, and as she added all of the anatomically correct details she'd learned from the art class George had paid for, she shaded the skin, and then started on the face.

And almost dropped her pencil when she realized she was drawing... Mackenzie. His features on what used to be the blank space. His eyes, looking back at her. His... well, he was _naked_ , which was the point, she had always meant to be drawing porn, but she hadn't really expected the man in the piece to come out looking like her brother.

She couldn't, even though she had tried, escape the notice that he had been turned on while hugging her. She'd been with enough boys by now to know what that had been pressed against her thigh—she just couldn't, for the life of her, comprehend why Mackenzie would be turned on by her.

And then she did drop her pencil, because she shocked herself by realising it wasn't because he was her brother—her twin, especially—that had made her wonder that, but because she was such a whore. Why would Mackenzie want her?

She covered her notebook over with her book and leaned down to pick up her pencil. The teacher's drone seemed to be winding down, so she started listening for the bell—and in her mind, the picture of Mackenzie naked lingered, a static image much like the one she'd drawn on the clean lined paper of her notebook.

:::

Mackenzie watched as Evan flitted about the room like the social butterfly she apparently was, talking to almost everyone and drinking from the beers of all the boys in the room. Mackenzie didn't like that she did that—didn't she know how it came across? Or maybe she did, and that was why she was doing it, Mackenzie couldn't be sure. But he'd seen her, too, at least once with a joint in her hand. He just didn't know if she'd taken a hit off it—though he suspected she had.

He stayed in the corner for the most part, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, trying not to think about earlier that day, when she'd confided in him that she had, in fact, done something stupid. But even so—Mackenzie couldn't find any anger towards her over it. She was too immature—too young didn't even really enter into it—to have a baby, and while he didn't know anything about her family now, he was sure that she wouldn't have even made it through a pregnancy without being reckless and incautious.

He wondered what his mother thought of the whole thing, honestly. It was funny, he rarely thought about his mother, even though he'd lost her the same day that he'd lost Evan. And if he really analyzed it, he could figure out that losing Evan wasn't just about losing family. It was about losing... well, he wasn't sure what to call it. Evan superseded family. She became something else, something bigger, something more inescapable in his mind.

The party was kind of lame, actually. There was mostly drinking and pot and high school kids acting like idiots, which wasn't Mackenzie's favorite scene, but he wanted to be near his sister, wanted to be the one who she was going to leave with—later, probably hanging off his arm on the verge of puking, from the looks of things.

And then one of the kids he didn't know picked up a remote control and turned the stereo off, clapping his hands.

"Spin the bottle!" he shouted, and Mackenzie closed his eyes and shook his head. Because they were still twelve, right? Nonetheless, most of the other kids in the room cheered, and for the first time Mackenzie realized that the room had been thinning out. Girls who had been dancing were suddenly missing, and boys who had been drinking with Evan had mysteriously vanished as well.

So apparently the spin the bottle game was just for the benefit of those of them who were left—the losers who hadn't managed to hook up with someone already and sneak off to get lucky. God, Mackenzie hated parties. It was like being trapped in a glass box—on display for everyone, and everything you did was scrutinized.

And then Evan was against his arm, giggling, her breath smelling of alcohol and her smile brighter than any sunshine he'd ever seen.

"C'mon," she grinned, yanking his hand out of his pocket and threading their fingers together. "Let's play."

He looked at her, and got the impression that maybe she wasn't off sleeping with some stranger because she felt some kind of responsibility for him. Or, if not precisely that, that she didn't want to leave him standing alone in a corner while she fucked some random guy. Or girl.

"All right," he said, then dragged her up against his side for a minute, just so he could see her eyes up close in the dim lighting. "But this is a stupid idea and a lame party game. What the hell is this, middle school?"

"Stop being a wet blanket, Mac," she said, darting away from him and throwing herself onto the floor, crossing her legs and, with one hand in the vicinity of her hip, challenging him to play the game even though it was freakin' dumb.

So he sat down equally Indian-style across from her, and a few other people plopped down too, and the kid Mackenzie didn't know who'd suggested the game grabbed an empty beer bottle.

"You all know how this works, right? You spin the bottle, and whoever it points to, you gotta make out with. For at least thirty seconds. Anything less than that is cheating—and if you cheat," he said, pointing at them with the mouth of the bottle, "you get five minutes in heaven with that person."

Evan met his eyes, and there was a distinctly evil glint in her eye. Mackenzie rolled his own eyes and wondered who it was she was hoping to make out with—clearly there was some boy—or girl—in the circle that she was pining for who hadn't fallen for her dubious charms just yet. Mackenzie wondered who it could be, swiftly casing the people surrounding him, but none of them looked like they would be immune to Evan's flirtations, and not only that, but she wasn't looking at any of them, either.

:::

Evan was a little bit toasted from all of the alcohol she'd nipped off the boys around the room, and more than a little baked from the joint she'd basically smoked all by herself when Mackenzie wasn't looking, and all that added up to a certain mischievousness that she wouldn't ordinarily indulge. Hell, it didn't even make sense, but Mackenzie looked fucking hot, even though he was just wearing ragged jeans and a t-shirt with another shirt over it.

It had to be all of the artificial substances fogging her brain, but spin the bottle sounded like it could be a lot more fun than she might have otherwise considered, if for no other reason than she'd spent all afternoon, until it was time to creep down the trellis, thinking about Mackenzie and drawing. And, for that matter, drawing Mackenzie in a myriad of positions, most of them not involving clothes. So what? She was an artist—or at least, she wanted to be. It was perfectly natural to draw the naked form as art, even if you were capturing your own twin's likeness.

That didn't explain how, though, she couldn't stop staring at Mackenzie's lips now. He had such a full lower lip, and it always looked like it was sticking out a little in a pout. Had to be the drugs, she thought fuzzily, as Cameron spun the bottle and watched it until it stopped spinning. It pointed to Jo-Anne, who had just come into the room and slapped her ass down next to Evan, which bugged Evan, actually, because she was so not in the mood to talk to Jo-Anne.

Though the fact that she was right next to Evan lowered the statistics of the bottle pointing to her when Evan spun it. Evan looked at Mackenzie again, and he looked vaguely uncomfortable and more than a little bit bored, tapping his fingers on one jean-clad thigh—and Evan quickly cut her eyes away, trying not to notice the way the denim encased his thigh so tightly.

Cameron scowled. "I so wanted it to land on Brady," she complained, but she leaned over the bottle and grabbed Jo's shoulder, pulling her in and closing her eyes.

The kiss didn't really last thirty seconds, or at least, it didn't seem like it to Evan's impaired brain, but Maxwell—the kid whose house it was, who had suggested the game—didn't call her out on it, probably because he was too busy getting his rocks off on the fact that he had two girls making out in his living room. Not that it was much of a show: Cameron didn't even open her mouth, and Jo-Anne didn't really seem all that into it, either.

The game proceeded apace, with Jo-Anne spinning the bottle, and it landed on a boy that Evan didn't know. He smiled but it looked like a grimace, and then he kissed her, really fast, like he was afraid he'd get cooties if he got too close to her. Evan looked a little bit closer and he seemed familiar... wait, wasn't he the guy she'd seen Mackenzie with just that morning? Mackenzie wasn't looking at him, and he hadn't mentioned bringing any friends, but the guy had to be older than they were, maybe even old enough to drive, so perhaps that was why he was here.

Stupid lame high school party—Evan wanted to be upstairs getting laid, but something had kept her down here, tied to this room. Well, that was kind of a cop-out—Evan knew it was Mackenzie that was drawing her in, his presence like a magnet that her opposing charge couldn't resist.

Just the fact that he was here made her reluctant to even walk out of his sight for more than a few minutes, because what if she came back and he was gone? What if she came back, and not only was he gone, but he'd never been there in the first place? She wondered how long it would take to get used to his presence again. If she ever would. How long it might take to stop looking over her shoulder expecting someone to recognize them, or to stop pinching her thigh black and blue to make sure it wasn't some dream.

And then it was her turn to spin the bottle. She realized, fuzzily, that Mackenzie hadn't ever gotten chosen for a kiss by anyone else, and even as the thought made her perversely pleased—and why?—she grabbed the bottle and spun it fast and vigorously.

And watched in amazement as it whirled round and round and then slowly came to a stop, the mouth pointing directly at Mackenzie. Her brother.

She had to kiss her brother, and she had to do it right, or people would suspect something. Or worse, she'd wind up in the closet with him.

:::

Mackenzie stared at the bottle, his mouth opening just a little. It was pointing at him—there was no denying that, no way to pass it off. And Evan was still sitting there, beautiful and flushed a bit, and Mackenzie hated just how much he wanted to actually kiss her.

How could this even be happening? He reached forward, almost as if he was going to turn the bottle away, and then realized he couldn't. They wouldn't be able to explain why they didn't want to kiss each other—high school was vicious, and the slightest rumor would ruin them both. Someone would ask questions, figure out that he and Evan looked just enough alike to be at least cousins, and then...

He stomped on that thought like he was putting out a fire and took a deep breath. How hard could it be? It was a thirty second kiss. They didn't even have to open their mouths—Jo-Anne and the other girl hadn't.

He leaned forward at the same exact second that Evan did, and her lips parted just slightly, shining with lip gloss and sweat beaded above her lip, and Mackenzie didn't even have another moment to second-guess himself before he parted his own lips and slowly, oh-so-slowly, tilted forward into his sister's arms, as if the world had suddenly shifted on its axis, putting him in her orbit in such a way that he would never be able to escape.

:::

Evan put her hands on Mackenzie's shoulders and closed her eyes, but not because she didn't want to see who she was kissing—no, because (and maybe it was the influence of the substances) she wanted to enjoy it as much as possible. She could smell Mackenzie as he cupped his linked hands around the back of her neck, drew her in.

She'd been so sure for a moment there, from the stunned expression on his face, that he wasn't going to follow through. But that—that didn't seem to be the case here, not really.

She could feel his heart beating as if it were beating in her own chest, and wondered, just before his lips brushed over hers for the first time, if _her_ heart was beating in _his_ chest.

And then he settled his lips more firmly over hers, and without thinking, without anything but pure undiluted instinct, she opened her mouth to him, let her tongue tiptoe inside, a little tap against his teeth before entering his mouth completely.

Mackenzie didn't even hesitate; his tongue met hers and then she was suddenly drowning, the feel of his lips on hers so exquisite it should've felt wrong even if he weren't her twin, but the only thing she could really concentrate on was just how damn good it felt.

His lower lip, plump and juicy, fit between her teeth just right and she dragged it into her mouth and sucked, and he made a sound like he was dying, Jesus, and then he turned her head with his hands, drawing her in deeper, positively ravishing her mouth with his own.

Distantly, she heard someone speaking, but it was muffled by the rushing in her ears, the rapid thump-thump-thump of Mackenzie's heart beating in her own body.

:::

It was ridiculous. He hadn't meant to do it, to guide her at all, to let his tongue follow hers back into her mouth, or to taste her like he was—and she tasted unfamiliar, which surprised him. He'd kind of been expecting something more cataclysmic, like the world ending in a blast of fiery sparks, something, anything to signify that he was kissing his twin sister, but the only thing that happened was the type of fireworks he might expect from the best kiss of his life.

And Jesus Christ, it _was_ the best kiss of his life. Cory didn't even rate on the scale, it was so good—the feel of her soft lips moving against his, the inside of her mouth so sweet, even her teeth on his lower lip making him ache in ways and places he still couldn't even define. Hell, he knew he was hard—embarrassingly so—but it wasn't even that, it was totally unrelated to that.

What he felt, he couldn't quantify it. All he knew was that she was still kissing him, her mouth still open and accepting, and so he copied her, sucking on her lips, running his tongue along the shape of her lower lip, and then, just before he could really drown in her mouth, he heard the kid who'd started the game start repeating Evan's name.

"All right, fuck, that's like a full minute. Get a room already."

Mackenzie let her go and sat back. His mind was reeling as if he was suddenly intoxicated, and maybe he was—but all just from the taste, the texture of her mouth.

God, but he was in it so deep now. Too deep.

He looked at Evan, and she looked debauched, her lips puffy, her black curls tangled up from his fingers, spread across her shoulders like a shawl.

:::

It was the best kiss of her life. It was more than a little fucked up—it was fucked up in so many different ways she couldn't even catalogue them.

Yet all she wanted to do was kiss him again. Maybe this time grab his cheeks and just pin him in place until she'd finally had enough.

They'd been kissing for what felt like forever—the rest of their lives over in an instant—and yet it wasn't long enough. Hadn't been long enough. In all possibility, maybe it could never be long enough.

She stared at Mackenzie's lips, and he watched her right back, and there wasn't the slightest ounce of regret in his eyes.

No regret in his heart, either, she could feel it.

What was it—was it some kind of cosmic punishment that the first meaningful kiss in her entire life had been at the lips of her twin brother?

:::

Evan didn't look freaked, Mackenzie reflected. She looked a little bit like she'd been blindsided, but she didn't look unhappy about it. He managed to tear his eyes away from her, but both Jo-Anne and Cory were gone, and he didn't think they'd witnessed the kiss. If it could even be called that.

It felt more like the apocalyptic rending of his soul, actually, and not in the negative way that would suggest. More like he'd been ripped apart from the inside out by kissing her, but it had only served to build him back up stronger.

That crazy doctor—if she hadn't put these thoughts in his head, he might never have gone along with it. But now that it was done, he couldn't fathom taking it back.

Couldn't even think of anything but how long it might be until he could kiss her again.

With a shock that felt like it stopped his heart like a bolt of electricity, he realized he was in love with Evan. With his twin sister.

This went so far beyond simple inexplicable desire.

This was something else.

And Mackenzie knew, knew like he knew his heart would stop if he lost her again, that this was something he could not let slip away.

He had to have her like he needed to breathe.

:::

Evan jumped to her feet, and ran out of the room, because she knew Mackenzie would follow her. And he did, of course he did; she reached out and snagged his arm and drew him into the closet.

They'd been chosen for five minutes in heaven anyway simply because, as Maxwell had put it, _you two have some serious chemistry._

And that was the funny thing: they totally did. She had more chemistry with Mackenzie than with any of the boys she'd slept with, more chemistry than she'd ever been able to muster up with Jo-Anne.

Mackenzie was smiling at her, a little vacantly as though he was still assimilating their last kiss, as she swung the door shut and plunged them into darkness.

And in the dark she slipped her arms around him, brought him so close to her that her breasts—still not confined by a bra—rubbed right up against his chest as her mouth opened and she sealed it over his.

This kiss, she thought, should last forever.

:::

Mackenzie could barely think about anything beyond Evan's chest pressed to his. His mind had taken a vacation to somewhere hot and beautiful, and Evan's lips and mouth were sultry under his, and all he could do was wind his arms around her back and try to swallow her up into his own body.

For years, they'd been closer to each other than any two people they'd ever met. And now, with her lips pliant under his, he couldn't get her close enough. He needed her to be a part of him—he wanted her to crawl inside his skin and live there right next to his heart, which was beating erratically and too fast just from the feel of her.

This kiss, he thought as it went on and on, Evan a soft, warm armful, would last forever.

Long after he was dead, this kiss would linger on.

:::

Mackenzie knew he couldn't stay out as late as Evan, so eventually he had to slip away from her, but it was oh so difficult. Every time he left her lips, he'd feel an immediate loss, and have to dive back in for one more kiss, and she, oh God. She just kissed back every time. If he had ever doubted—even for a second—that she wanted this, that doubt was quashed by the fact that she kept returning the favor.

And finally, when he clicked the button on his watch to light up the face, he discovered it was almost eleven p.m. His father might not even be home yet, but Shirley would probably be sitting up on the couch, knitting or reading one of her textbooks on psychology, and he was about to be in big trouble because he'd said he was going to the library and now it was almost three hours after the library had closed.

He was going to have to tell her the truth—at least partially, anyway—to get her off his back. She'd never believe a complete lie.

Evan kissed him again, this time crooked on the corner of his lips, tiny tap of her tongue to punctuate it, and he didn't want to let her go. He never wanted to let her go. It was already impossible to imagine spending the next two days without her until school started back up on Monday. He—he was going to have to see her again before that.

It was crazy, demented. He knew even as he finally pulled out of her arms that this thing between them could never be discussed, could never be justified or explained.

"Ev," he said, and his voice cracked. "I gotta—"

"I know," she whispered back. "Oh, God, Mackenzie, I thought I was going crazy, but you feel it too, don't you? Can you feel it?"

"It's like stardust in a butterfly net," Mackenzie replied, not ashamed of the way that sounded. He wrote poetry sometimes, after all. "Impossible. I feel it too." He reached for her, drew his fingertips down the slope of her bare shoulder.

"Are we going crazy?" she asked, and his fingers travelled their way up to shape her lips.

"No," he replied so softly it hurt his throat. "Not unless we've gone crazy together. Evan, I've always—"

She lowered her head, and even in the darkness, he felt her lips move against his fingers.

"Do you think this—this is why? I've been asking myself for years why Mom separated us. Why she took me and not you. Why, Mackenzie? Why did she have to take me? She doesn't even like me."

"How can anyone not like you?" Even as he spoke the words, he thought about all of the boys she'd teased and tormented all night. Proof that people did like her—even if it was only for what was between her legs. Shamed, he realized he wanted that just as badly. Had to have it, in fact. "And I don't know, Ev. Possibly? But this—was this even there before?"

She dropped her head onto his chest and he folded his palm over the back of her skull. "I feel like this has been going on forever," she said. "Like I've only just woken from a nightmare to find that I had you all along."

"Me too," he said. "Evan."

"What's the matter, Mac?" she asked, and she didn't move, so he drew his hand down and plastered it to her back. He wanted to touch her for the rest of his life.

"I have to go home, Ev. My stepmother is gonna have my ass as it is."

"Please." She kissed his chest through the slender strip of his thin t-shirt showing from beneath his overshirt. Her lips were so hot he could feel it as if she'd just branded the shape of them onto his skin. "I don't want you to go. I can't—I don't think I can stand it."

"You can do anything you put your mind to," Mackenzie said. "You've always been the one who could get whatever she wanted. Evan, between the two of us, you're the one who doesn't give up."

"Don't say that, Mac. You never exactly go quietly either."

"I really do have to go. But I also have to see you again. I'll—" he stopped and slid his fingers through the strands of her hair. Curls unwound between his fingers.

"How?" She raised her head and now it was the pad of her thumb against his lips. "I don't—"

"Do you have email?" he asked. "I could write you. And we could make plans to meet up."

"If Laurel figures it out—" Evan sounded scared. "If _anyone_ figures it out, Mackenzie, they will scatter us so far apart it will be like ashes on the wind."

Evan didn't write poetry like he did—she drew—but that didn't mean she didn't have the same creative streak.

"My stupid stepmother is a psychiatrist," Mackenzie said. "She wouldn't just do that, she'd analyze first. It'd be sickening. Even now she's probably trying to find out some mental illness that makes your teenager stay out too late."

Evan laughed a little sadly.

"That's what being a teenager is," she said. "I sneak out all the time. Can you sneak out?"

"I don't know how. It seems like everywhere I go at home, Shirley's there."

"Do you still mess around with baseball?" Evan asked. "You could say you had a late game."

Mackenzie wished he could see her face. "Can we have this conversation someplace a little brighter?" he asked, but he knew they couldn't. It was a damning conversation—they were just lucky that most of the other teens at the party were probably either high as kites or fucking each other.

"Say you have a late nighttime game tomorrow," Evan said. "I'll meet you under the bleachers. And, Mac? Bring a blanket."

God, he wanted her so badly—but not like that. Not that fast, like she was just some random chick—any random girl he might want to stick his dick into. No.

"No, Ev. Have some self-respect. I will come, of course. But—"

"So we can sit on," she said archly, but Mackenzie knew it was just a cover. He couldn't resist the lure of her lips any longer—he kissed her again, her tongue full in his mouth.

"And, Evan?" he said, unconsciously repeating her speech patterns. "No more boys."

"Mackenzie—"

"I mean it. You're not a whore, Evan, and you don't need to prove yourself by sleeping with anything that has a heartbeat."

"I don't fuck dogs," Evan said, and she sounded petulant now. Mackenzie cuddled her close again just long enough—he memorised the feel of her in his arms. Maybe they were going crazy. Maybe it was possible to be crazy-mad at the same exact time as your sister.

Maybe he didn't care.

:::

"I didn't mean that," her brother said, and Evan wanted to stay in the closet forever. She smothered a giggle at the double entendre, then snuggled her face against his chest one last time, inhaling his scent, long-missed but not forgotten.

"I know," she murmured. "All right, we really should come out of the closet—" this time she couldn't hold back the snigger— "and you should get home. And I'll give you my email address, but I only get to check it rarely."

"I have to check mine at the library," Mackenzie said a little gloomily. "But they can't keep us apart anymore, Ev. I won't let that happen."

Evan stepped back and rapped on the door. It took a few minutes—presumably whoever was supposed to let them out was making out with someone else beyond the door—but then light strafed through the crack and it swung outward. Evan grabbed Mackenzie's hand and dragged him out of the confined space, turning her face up to smile at him.

"It was nice meeting you," she said, and the kid at the door snickered. She ignored him. She pressed her hand flat over Mackenzie's heart for one split second, then spun away, her little flared skirt whirling.

She knew she should at least walk outside with him, give him a last good-night kiss, but sometimes a girl had to be coy, and besides, they would really be testing their luck if she did that. As it was, everyone would be expecting them to swap spit in the hallways, and she knew they couldn't—not with Mackenzie's stepbrother around.

She only hoped that Mackenzie knew they couldn't really spend a lot of time together in school. Not that that was going to stop her from yanking him into supply closets every once in awhile.

Mackenzie was just behind her, she knew without looking; and then he wasn't anymore.

She allowed herself to turn around, and he was talking to the boy who'd been in the spin the bottle circle until he'd snuck off with Jo-Anne. She wondered what it meant that she wasn't even jealous about that. That she really didn't care if she never saw Jo-Anne again.

Mackenzie had swallowed up her emotion for anything else. He was larger than her life could hold, taking up so much space that there wasn't room left for anyone or anything else.

It frightened her, the intensity of what she felt. When she'd first coaxed him into the spin the bottle game, it had been a lark, something that seemed like fun even though her tummy had been twisting with the knowledge that she hadn't been able to stop thinking about him since she'd seen him under the bleachers.

And all the art she'd drawn—God, she thought with a sudden pulse of anxiety. She was going to have to burn it or something. She didn't think George would appreciate nude art of her brother. Laurel probably wouldn't notice, but George always did take too much of an interest in her and everything she did.

She stumbled on the steps, still a little woozy from the alcohol—and maybe a little intoxicated from Mackenzie's kisses—and made her way down the last two much more carefully. She wondered, as she walked to Jo-Anne's car, if Meredith would be there at the breakfast table in the morning. Apparently she must be on some kind of school break.

Evan stood by the car and fidgeted until at last Jo-Anne emerged, thankfully not abandoning her this time, and questioned whether Meredith was there to knock some sense into her.

She didn't want to worry about it, and her high was becoming more and more elusive and distant, and as she got into the car, she said,

"Did you meet someone?" to Jo.

Jo grinned as she inserted the key into the ignition and the engine roared to life.

"Cory Stuart," she said, as if confiding a juicy secret. "He's got a stepbrother that is hot as hell, but he's pretty hot in his own right. But then, you'd know, wouldn't you? I saw you get five minutes in heaven with his stepbrother."

"We talked," Evan said evasively. "Wasn't really that interested in him." That lie scraped her tongue on the way out of her mouth. Especially since they had to somehow balance being friends—and possibly more—with not outing themselves.

"C'mon, Ev, don't play games with me," Jo-Anne said. "Cory was in the bathroom while you played spin the bottle but I saw you and his brother making out."

"Stepbrother," Evan corrected. "Did you even notice the way Cory looks at him?"

"So? I make out with you all the time. Doesn't mean anything."

"Are you sure?" Evan fiddled with her seat belt as Jo-Anne drove towards George's house.

"Well, okay, I'm in love with you," Jo said matter-of-factly. "But that still doesn't mean that Cory isn't interested. You should've seen the way he looked at me."

"I wish I had," Evan said, forcing wistfulness. "Mackenzie's hot but he's kind of boring, you know? Like he only seems to have one thing to talk about."

"What does he talk about?" Jo-Anne asked curiously.

"Mostly girls," Evan said, and then tried to bite her tongue off. If Mackenzie had a chick habit, he certainly didn't show it. In fact, the only girl he seemed to have any interest in at all was her.

Evan wondered what that meant.

"All right, chickie," Jo-Anne said. "Chauffeur service completed. You've been delivered to your destination, babe. Call me and we'll hang out." Unspoken were the words, _and maybe this time you'll put out._

Evan smiled as she pulled the door handle to let herself out of the car. Jo-Anne never could figure out why Evan hung around with her, tangled tongues with her, but only gave it all up for boys. How long would it take Jo to figure out that Evan was actually pretty straight?

Or maybe not even that, she thought as she waved and then started climbing the trellis to her room. Maybe she was just Mackenzie-sexual. Maybe she'd just been waiting for him all along, sampling everyone else, trying to find what she'd been missing, and all along what she'd been missing was her twin—in more ways than one.

She hugged the knowledge close to herself and couldn't stop grinning as she went through her window. Mackenzie had _kissed_ her. And it had been lovely. She crept around her room, tossing her clothes off, and then...

It was madness, what she did next. It didn't even exactly make sense. Somewhere in her still addled brain she apparently thought she could shift suspicion away from her new conquest if she just—

Evan garbed herself in one of her sheer babydolls and took off down the hall. She knew Laurel was probably downstairs on the couch—she could hear the television still chattering in the quiet—and slowly turned the knob to her stepfather's bedroom.

He was asleep on his side, completely unaware that she'd been gone.

When she pressed her lips to his, she came to the lightning-bright conclusion that she wanted to see if this was the same—if it was the forbiddenness of it that made her want Mackenzie.

But there was nothing, no spark, and she slowly drew back.

If George caught her, he'd probably kill her.

She wandered back down the hall to her bedroom, and fell asleep tasting her stepfather's lips—but she dreamed of other lips.

:::

Cory would not stop going on about the girl he'd met at the party. Mackenzie listened with half an ear and even less attention, but the one thing that became clear quickly was that Cory hadn't seen him and Evan together, which was a damn thankful thing. Mackenzie wasn't sure what Cory would do if he caught Mackenzie kissing someone else.

Even though he seemed content to natter on about Evan's busty, blonde girlfriend, Mackenzie was still a little wary of letting him know anything else had gone on at that party—because he knew that Cory wasn't actually attracted to the girl. Even the things he said were more of the "she's so interesting to talk to" variety than "I can't wait to get into her pants."

And then Cory turned the car into the driveway and set it in park, faced Mackenzie. "God, I know, I prattle," he said. "But you know I still—"

"I know," Mackenzie said quickly, trying to cut him off before he said something that Mackenzie was going to have to lie to respond to.

It didn't work.

"Wanna jerk off when we get inside?" Cory asked hopefully, and leaned over the gearshift to kiss Mackenzie.

Now that he'd kissed Evan—now that he'd tasted paradise, he couldn't just go back to ordinary. Mackenzie had never been into drugs, but he supposed that if they made him feel like Evan did, he'd probably turn into an addict.

He jerked his face to the side.

"I'm not in the mood," he said, trying to sound like that's all it was. "The pounding bass gave me a headache. I don't really like parties."

Cory's face was appallingly easy to read. Disbelief was scrawled across his features with all of the hot shame of blood. "Seriously?" he asked. "A headache?"

"I'll watch you, if you like," Mackenzie offered, even though he really didn't want to. "But I'm really not—I just don't think I can get it up."

"I bet I could—" Cory said, reaching for Mackenzie's fly. Mackenzie lifted his knee, so that Cory wouldn't see the erection still pressing there from such prolonged and close contact with Evan. He didn't know how Cory would react to the idea of Mackenzie making out with someone besides him.

"Not tonight," he demurred. "Please?"

"All right," Cory said at last, disappointment clear in his voice. "Maybe tomorrow."

"Yeah," Mackenzie said. "Guess it's time to face the dragon," he added, catching sight of the orange light glowing through the living room curtains.

"Say you were with me," Cory suggested. "Not only is it true, but it will get her off your case. She's not gonna upbraid you if she thinks you were off spending time with her perfect son."

Mackenzie choked off a laugh.

"Cory," he said, "you're all right. I'm just sorry your mother wouldn't understand you."

"C'mon, let's go inside," Cory said. "Might as well just get this over with."

Mackenzie got out of the car and the cool fall air helped wilt his erection, which was useful as he trod after Cory up to the front door.

But even as he waited for Cory to unlock the door, he couldn't help his mind wandering back to the party, and to Evan.

It was with more than a certain measure of dismay that he realized he would have to see his therapist again.

Well. No matter what fucked up thoughts she'd put into his head, something good had come out of it. But he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of telling her the truth.

Yeah, it was past time to start learning to lie.

:::

"Where on earth have you two been?" Shirley said the moment Cory entered the front hall. Cory gave his mother a strained smile.

"Went to the library and then went for a walk," Cory said. "Mackenzie wanted to talk about his first day of high school and it was such a pretty night outside."

"Oh," Shirley said, looking at Mackenzie for a second before pasting her attention back on her son. "That's nice," she added. "Sweet of you."

Mackenzie let out the breath he'd been holding in his lungs.

"But next time," she said, as she flipped through a magazine, "please call and let me know you're going to be late?"

"Oh, gosh, Mother, I forgot. I'm so sorry," Cory said profusely.

"That's all right, sweetheart. This time." She looked up at them again. Mackenzie shifted from foot to foot. He wasn't part of the interrogation yet, but that could change at any moment.

"I'm gonna crash now," Cory said, and went over to the couch, kissed the top of his mother's head. "Love you, Mom. I'll see you in the morning."

Just before Mackenzie could escape, Shirley finally turned her complete attention to him.

"Your next appointment with Dr. Forbes is on Wednesday," she said. "And no arguments: you're going."

Mackenzie felt his shoulders slump.

"Yeah, okay," he said.

"Oh, and Cory," she said as he was leaving the room. "If you want to spend time with a girl, all you have to do is tell me. You don't have to drag Mackenzie around as some sort of cover story."

"Yes, Mother," Cory said resignedly. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, boys," Shirley said, and Mackenzie escaped.

Unfortunately, once he was in bed, he realized he was starving. And even though he kind of just wanted Evan's head to be on the pillow next to him, he knew that would never happen. Not in this lifetime—no matter what they did, they'd always have to keep this thing between them a secret.

Mackenzie fell asleep with his stomach complaining loudly and his mind forced to quietness by sheer force of will.

:::

The window was open when Mackenzie woke up, with fresh cool September air blowing into the room—it felt refreshing, but he didn't really get the chance to enjoy it because the smell of jizz hung heavy in the air.

He threw off the covers, but his underwear were dry over the soft press of his half-hard morning wood. So not his fault, then—which meant that Cory must have come into his room in the middle of the night, or the early morning. Mackenzie wasn't exactly sure how he felt about that.

On the one hand, it was kind of creepy for Cory to come in and beat the meat while watching him sleep. On the other hand, not only was Mackenzie slightly flattered that anyone thought he was worth that, but he had a creeping suspicion that he would've done the same thing to Evan, had it been possible and had she not been as into it as he was.

That thought led right back to his twin sister, as so many thoughts did these days, and Mackenzie took a moment to picture her the way she was last night, just before they said good-bye. With any luck, he'd be seeing her again tonight, clothed in darkness, but he'd still be able to touch her, to feel the way her skin belonged with his. To be allowed to do things to her that he couldn't do any other time or place.

The fantasy—and hopefully the reality would be even better—turned his half-hardness into a full boner. He almost wanted to call Cory back into the room and make his stepbrother watch as he got off. And the irony wasn't completely lost on him that his stepbrother would be watching him take care of business while Mackenzie was thinking about his sister.

Which circled right back around to Evan. God, he couldn't wait for tonight. Couldn't wait to see what she'd wear, how she'd behave. Would she still be into it? Would she kiss him again like she had last night, so sweetly and yet with such filth on her lips? Would she spurn him, after all that?

He flopped onto his side and stuck his hand into his boxer briefs and grabbed hold of his dick and pulled. He closed his eyes, and tried to think about Evan and what she might look like gilded by moonlight and leaning in to kiss him. Maybe she'd put her hand on his dick.

The smell of come in the air distracted him, though. He thumbed over the head and precome dribbled onto his finger. Then he pulled his hand back out of his underwear and dropped his feet over the side of the bed, got up and stretched, shirtless and a little cold from the open window. Walking as quietly as he could over to the door, he pushed it open a crack. The hallway was empty, the nightlight still flickering from the night before, which meant it was still early.

Taking a deep, fortifying breath, Mackenzie stepped out of his room and crept down the hall towards Cory's room, even though Cory's was much closer to his mother's. It was a huge risk. It was a terrible chance to take. But Mackenzie couldn't help feeling like if he got away with this, then he could get away with anything.

He turned the doorknob so slowly to keep it from squeaking, then immediately ducked into the room. Cory was lounging on his bed with a magazine—and it was a magazine with a half-naked boy on the cover, looking almost too young to be exploited like that.

"Hey," he whispered, and Cory looked up. First he looked alarmed, and then his features relaxed. He tossed the magazine off to the side and patted the bed, his eyes darting down just long enough to take in Mackenzie's current state of arousal.

Mackenzie took the spot that Cory offered and bit his lower lip, looking into Cory's eyes but imagining other eyes. He came with Evan's image burned onto his retinas, although he was so careful and so quiet that if he moaned her name, it wasn't audible to anyone.

By the time he snuck away, Cory looked like every dream he'd ever had had come true.

Mackenzie refused to feel guilty about it.

:::

Even though she was technically still grounded, Evan woke up Saturday morning to her mother's cheerful, slightly inane prattle as she drew the blinds.

"Come on, sweetheart!" she said, even though Evan was still blinking at the sudden light piercing her sleep-accustomed eyes. "I am going to take you shopping, and we are going to have a lovely day together. And then Monday you'll be the prettiest girl in school!"

Evan didn't deign to point out that she didn't need to be the prettiest girl in school, because she was probably the biggest whore and that attracted the boys even more than if she were exceptionally pretty.

But even as she had that thought, she touched her lips and smiled, thinking of Mackenzie. He probably considered her to be the prettiest. Hadn't he even said so? She wasn't sure; her mind was still so fuzzy from the night before. She had to lay off smoking pot or drinking too much. Especially now. What if Mackenzie decided he hated that about her, and didn't want to spend time with her anymore?

"Evan?" her mother asked, still standing there, now looking awkward. "You do want to come shopping with me, don't you?"

"Of course," Evan croaked. Her throat was still dry and her head pounded a little. Definitely a hangover, though not a terrible one. And she forced a bigger smile for Laurel. Maybe she could find something tantalising and a little bit wicked to wear tonight—and break down Mackenzie's resolve not to fuck her the first chance he got.

She ought to have been disturbed by how badly she wanted his dick, and inside of her, not just to toy with. But every time she flirted with the idea, she just got more and more excited and interested and downright giddy. She had to make him see that waiting was stupid.

Maybe by tomorrow morning she'd be freshly fucked by the one person she couldn't believe she'd never considered before, yet now she could hardly consider anyone else.

"I've invited Jo," her mother said next, "but she doesn't know if she'll be able to make it. Said she had something to do."

_I'll bet_ , Evan thought. _Probably try to find someone to hook up with to try and make me jealous_. But there was no way she was going to be jealous—she had the crown jewels pretty much already in her hands. It was just a matter of hanging onto them—and she found it unlikely that Mackenzie would ever want to be rid of her.

The idea made her all warm and happy inside, and she hopped out of bed. Her mother frowned at her attire, but didn't say anything about it—which was typical; Laurel never made waves unless she had to, and she had George to do it for her now.

"George said it was all right as long as I keep you in my sight, but I trust you, baby," her mother said. "If you want to take Jo and go get something to eat or catch a movie, that's no big deal. I can just tell George I never even blinked." Her mother winked at her. And then her brow furrowed a little. "For some reason Meredith's been staying over. I'm not sure why, but you ought to ask her if she'd like to come. A nice girl's day out, you know?"

Evan smiled. A girl's day out—which meant her mother didn't qualify.

"I'll ask her," she said, even though she still wasn't sure she liked Meredith. She talked a lot, for one thing, and for another, she seemed uncomfortably perceptive. But maybe that was just Evan's paranoia. After all, she had a lot to be paranoid about.

She dashed around the room throwing clothes on, painting herself with makeup and generally getting ready as fast as she could, while her mother hung around like she was still afraid to let Evan out of her sight, even after all the _wink wink, nudge nudge_ she'd just been talking about. Finally, Laurel heaved a great sigh.

"I wish you wouldn't be so forward, honey," she said. Evan paused in applying mascara to peer at her mother from the mirror. Laurel was actually addressing an issue instead of dancing around it, like a cockroach she didn't want to see but was just as afraid to step on?

"Don't know what you mean," Evan said, and went back to her makeup. The blush went on a little heavier than usual, because she wanted that _just flushed with arousal_ look, and she hoped it would last all day until she saw Mackenzie. Not that she really needed it around him, she supposed—one look from his intense eyes and she'd probably flush with arousal for real. Ruin another pair of panties and all that.

Speaking of which... she was totally going to buy a lacy new thong when she was out. Mackenzie deserved something sexy—and something she hadn't worn for someone else before him.

Strange how she already felt so connected to him romantically, and how possessive—like he was her boyfriend, when that was something most people would've considered impossible.

"You're such a nice girl," Laurel said finally. "I just don't think you want people to get the wrong impression."

Evan put down the blush brush.

"I don't really think they do," she said candidly. "In fact, I'm quite certain that the impression people get is 'what you see is what you get.' No false advertising here, Mama."

Her mother winced, but sort of patted her shoulder. "I'll be downstairs, sweetie," she said. "Just holler when you're ready and I'll warm up the car."

"When do I get my own car?" Evan asked eagerly. Laurel shook her head.

"You'll have to ask George about that, but, baby, not for awhile, I'm sure. You're barely fifteen yet—there's still plenty of time."

Her mother shut the door when she left, and Evan took a moment to put on a dark purple satin demi cup edged in black lace. Her breasts—still a little swollen from the pregnancy—overflowed the cups. She didn't often wear bras—almost never—but she wanted to look special today.

Wanted, for some reason she couldn't pin down, for Mackenzie to think she was something special, and not just some other guy's used-up, tossed-out plaything.

When she got down the stairs in her chunky heels, her mother was standing by the door, dressed as if she wanted to be Evan's best friend. George was nowhere in sight, but Meredith was next to her mother, looking awfully pretty in a stretch lace tee and stonewashed blue jeans.

Evan was jealous.

"Oh, you look so adorable!" Meredith gushed immediately. "Come on," she said, and linked arms with Evan. "This is going to be a blast."

:::

Evan's mother disappeared within five minutes of them walking into the mall. She'd winked and vanished, leaving Evan alone with Meredith, who chattered and chattered and had opinions on everything, and who commented on every single thing Evan picked up.

She'd thought it would be annoying, but she got used to it really quickly and it actually became endearing, especially when she found a thong that was black lace with a little purple rosette on the front, which would match her bra. And tonight, when she saw Mackenzie, she was going to wear the bra. Maybe he'd think her less of a whore. He had to think she was one—he'd seen her in action.

And for the first time in years, Evan wished she was something she wasn't.

"Oh, Evan," Meredith laughed. "That's so tiny; I wish I could fit into something that small. I'm envious."

"Don't be," Evan replied as she fingered the super-soft lace. "I wish I had hair that color."

"No, you don't," Meredith immediately replied. "It washes out your skin and you'd have freckles."

"I do have freckles," Evan said. "Just mostly on my shoulders."

"Better there than on your face," Meredith said wistfully. "Hey, you should totally buy that, though you should also remember—try not to model it for anyone."

"I think I have a new boyfriend," Evan said shyly, trying it out. Meredith's face lit like a Christmas candle, she was so excited.

"Oh, that's so cool! I'm happy for you!" she said, and threw her arms around Evan. Evan held back a little, though.

But even though she expected questions, all she got was a repeat of: "Just don't do anything stupid," and then they were leaving the lingerie section for the juniors' section.

Evan riffled through most of the clothes there, but she couldn't find anything just right, until Meredith held up a wine red, sparkly halter top with no back but a string tie.

Evan threw out her resolve to wear a bra and snatched it up.

"This is perfect!" she said, holding it up to herself in the mirror. It would leave most of her back and shoulders exposed, and Evan had a feeling that if he could see them in the dark, Mackenzie would probably like her freckles. She wondered if he remembered she had them.

She bought the halter and the lacy thong, plus a pair of jeans so tight she almost had to be stitched into them like Olivia Newton-John from _Grease._

"I don't see my mother," she said, scanning the area out front of the mall a few minutes later. Meredith hooked their arms together again, and it hit Evan with striking clarity: Meredith was totally a double agent. She was only around to befriend Evan, and then report on her back to George.

The sexy things in her shopping bag began figuratively smoking. George would never approve, and Evan hadn't bought a single thing she could wear to school except the jeans, and even those were pushing it.

Still, though. She didn't move away from Meredith, even though she realized she should never have trusted her even a little. Why had she mentioned Mackenzie? Why had she called him her boyfriend? If she had dropped any inadvertent clues, her life would be over.

But before she could really start to panic, Laurel waved and came running over, acting more like a teenager than a mother.

"Come on, girls," she said, and they all started for the car.

It was only then that Evan fully realized Jo-Anne hadn't accompanied them. Followed by that revelation was the thought: _I wonder where she is and what she's doing, then?_

:::

"Hey, babe! Heard you went shopping this morning and said fuck you to daddy's punishment," Jo-Anne said, her voice tinny and crackling over the phone. Evan quickly poked her head out of the room, then slammed the bathroom door and settled on top of the closed toilet lid, her knees drawn up, the curling phone cord caught in the door.

"He's not my daddy, Jo, you know that," she said in a hiss. "And his punishment included phone calls, which means I'm gonna get shit if he catches me. I noticed you didn't meet us at the mall," she said.

"Cory called me!" Jo squealed. "He totally asked me to the movies tonight."

"A movie?" Evan scoffed into the receiver. "I thought you would've gotten to third base by now and you're still at the movie stage?"

"Cram it, Evan. He's shy! He's so cute, though; I can't believe he even likes me."

Evan stared at her dirty, chipped fingernails—climbing up and down her rose trellis was murder on the nails—and said,

"Excuse me? You have every hot boy in a twelve mile radius trying to get in your pants, and some of the girls I might add, and you're this worked up over a movie?"

"You just don't get it, do you, Ev? It's not about the sex, that's like doing porn. He seems like he likes me. I can't remember the last time that happened. Oh wait, yes I do; it was back when I didn't have any tits yet, and boys still thought girls had cooties," Jo said sarcastically.

Evan laughed shortly.

"Dude, Jo-Anne, you had sex the first time when you were eleven. Don't give me that shit—you had tits at ten."

"You're one to talk, Hoover-Face," Jo-Anne retorted. Evan winced. That had been her nickname when she was twelve—among the boys, scrawled on tiled bathroom walls in Sharpie marker.

"Shut up," she said. "At least I didn't put out that early."

"I got news for you, honey, being known as the best at giving head in middle school ain't anything more to be proud of."

Evan tried to force away the memories—she'd been eleven, too, when it started—but they rose to the surface like oil on water nonetheless. The very first time.

_"Aw, don't be shy, baby," Kevin'd said. He was fourteen, going into high school after that summer. He'd grabbed her hair and wound it through his fingers, then pushed her head down. "No teeth, and not too much spit. And make sure you suck. Friction and suction, that's the key."_

_Evan hadn't wanted to do it, but he'd caught her cheating on her math test—they were in the same class, the dumb pre-algebra class—and he'd threatened to tell on her unless she met him behind the school. The brick was cold against her back when he pinned her to the wall, and then he shifted and turned them._

_Evan submitted to the pressure on her head and went down on her knees. The concrete walkway scraped them up bloody. She opened her mouth and he stuck his fingers inside first, holding her that way, one hand still on the back of her skull._

_"I mean it," he said. "No biting. You do that, and I'll tell your mother what you've been doing behind the school at recess."_

_Evan couldn't really nod, but she tried, a quick affirmative twitch of her head, and he let go, unzipped and drew out his dick, which to her was huge, choking huge._

_He removed his fingers and her cheeks stung from being held forcefully open. She widened her mouth because she was still little enough—hadn't even gotten tits yet—and forced her lips around the gigantic girth of him._

_She would learn later, through experience, that he wasn't even of average size, but at the time, it seemed like it propped her mouth wider open than her jaws wanted to go, but she obediently tucked her lips over her teeth and began to suck._

_He made noises that embarrassed her, and after a minute or two he began to thrust hard into her mouth, and she managed to coordinate the movements at first, pulling off and away as he thrust forward, but quickly enough he got rough, went too fast for her to control and slid his dick so far into her mouth it was at the very back of her throat, and she gagged around it, choking and unable to breathe._

_No pun intended, but she sucked at it the first time she gave head, yet it was definitely a learning experience. The next time, she was twelve, and she knew better than to gag and spit up strings of puke on the guy's sneakers._

_But at the time, Kevin had waited for her to finish drooling the bile and saliva over his sneakers, then shoved back in, ramming down her throat once, twice, three times more and then coming, surprising her with the thick, sticky fluid that filled her mouth._

_He let go of her head after that, after holding her in place, and she rubbed at her sore lips as he zipped up, and then as soon as he went around the corner, she fell to her hands and knees and vomited up come and bile into the grass._

_He'd been the first one to spread rumors of what she'd done. By the time she was twelve, she was doing it just to keep people from using slurs against her. Taking boys behind the school because they'd been promised she could give them a good time. They moved away from that town, but Hoover-Face had reverberated in her brain for months afterward, the knowledge that maybe that was all she was good at, sucking dick like a Hoover. She wished she'd never confided in Jo-Anne the night of that sleepover at her house._

"Anyway," Evan said, when she realized the silence had grown long like a shadow in early evening, "the point is, since when do you care if someone likes you because you have a tight pussy, or because you have a mind like a steel trap?"

"Well, Ev," Jo-Anne said thoughtfully, "I gotta tell you, I'd love it if you'd do more than give me the time of day. Look, I can come over tonight after the movie, sneak up the trellis, the whole nine yards. Prove to me that sex and emotion are connected—because so far, the only person I really get emotional about is you, and you won't even touch me. It hurts me, babe."

"God, you are so melodramatic," Evan said, rolling her eyes. "You should just do porn, if you're that into sex without strings. And I can't! I'm grounded."

"That has never stopped you before," Jo-Anne said, and now she sounded suspicious. "What is going on with you and that kid? The one you made out with at that party?"

Shit. Evan hadn't known that Jo was paying that close attention. She'd been so certain that given a few hours—with the aid of the liquor and drugs—Jo-Anne would've forgotten about that. They really had to be more careful—spin the bottle they might be able to explain away, but it would be difficult to convince anyone if they got caught out again.

And Evan knew that they could fake a relationship as long as no one saw them together much. She knew that they could even be friends and give everyone the impression that they were doing the high-school courting dance, but they couldn't make out in the halls like other kids could. They had too much to lose, and looked too much alike—even their homeroom teacher had noticed it.

Speaking of which, she was going to be back in homeroom with Mackenzie on Monday, and even though she was going to see him tonight, she couldn't wait. Just being around him, no matter what else was going on, was enough to make her pulse go wild and yet, at the same time, calm her in ways that the sex and drugs never had.

"That didn't—" Evan bit her lip. "Okay, so he was cool, but I don't even know if I'll see him again. You know? I'm not gonna sleep with him. I think he likes his stepbrother too much."

"You know, I didn't say this to you before, but that? Is kind of gross. I can't even imagine making out with my stepbrother. You know, if I had one."

"Just drop Mackenzie," Evan said, then wanted to cut out her own tongue with the nail scissors currently sitting on the sink counter. She hadn't meant to—

"Ohhhh, so it's _Mackenzie_ , now, is it? You sly thing. You're totally going to fuck him before the week is out."

"I'm not! Jesus, Jo, I'm not. That's just fucking stupid—I've turned over a new leaf."

"Not what I heard," Jo-Anne said slyly. "I heard you bought some seriously sexy underthings and jeans your mama would kill you for if she saw them."

Once she'd said the words, Evan knew she wanted them to be the truth. She wanted to turn over that new leaf—and she knew that Mackenzie could help her do it. He'd already turned her world so that the only person she could see was him, so that the gravitational pull was towards Mackenzie now, and not the ground. Her feet hadn't really touched ground since that first kiss they'd shared—and she never wanted to come back down.

"Who the fuck did you hear that from?" she said, lowering her voice because she thought she might have heard someone on the stairs. If it was her mother, she was probably safe, but if it was her stepfather, she was going to be in it deep.

"Whoever that chick is you were with—and color me jealous because I heard she's hot as hell—is dating my brother's best friend."

"Meredith is dating Keira?" Evan felt her eyes almost pop out of her head. "Dude, I totally thought I was being subversive when I started making out with you in the foyer, but if Meredith is dating a lesbian, then George was probably totally unfazed. God, that sucks," she said, and then realized she was running her mouth off. Better not to let Jo-Anne know that what had begun as a ruse that Jo knew about had continued. _Begin as you mean to go on,_ and all that.

"Yeah, I know, right? I thought no one would want that skank, but then again, Randy has no taste, so whatever. He's always saying it's 'just platonic,' but personally I think he ties her up and then watches her have sex with chicks. He'd do something like that."

"Ew, sick," Evan said. "Oh, yeah. Meredith is George's youngest daughter. She just showed up all of a sudden and started hanging out with me. I didn't see Keira at the mall, though."

"Well, so we know you don't have a prayer with her, but dude, if you get the chance, you need to introduce us."

"Yeah, I'm gonna tell George to lock her up after you said that. And you had your chance: she was with me at the mall, remember? The trip you were supposed to come with on?"

"I was talking to Cory! I couldn't leave him hanging, could I?"

"Yeah, we all know you never leave the boys hanging," Evan quipped. "Listen, I gotta go. I don't know when George is getting back, and he will totally tan my ass, I think, if he catches me flouting his punishment again."

"All right, chickie. Love you."

"Yeah, that's why you're angling for an introduction to Meredith," Evan said. "Gotta go."

She hung up the phone and cautiously opened the bathroom door. The coast was clear, so she carefully trotted back to the cradle and hung the phone up, then stomped off to her room as loudly as possible, to give the impression that maybe she'd been in the bathroom so long because her stomach was upset.

She thought about Mackenzie then and couldn't imagine her stomach ever being upset again. He made everything in her life feel just right, like those child's toys they'd had when they were little, all fitting together neatly.

She shoved the hope chest in her room up against the door and took out her things, realising as she started to strip out of her clothes, that she still didn't know how Keira'd even seen her without her seeing Keira. And that meant she and Mackenzie were going to have to be a lot more careful than she thought.

She dragged the lacy thong up her legs, which she'd just shaved that afternoon, and reveled in the feel of how smooth her skin was, and then snapped the elastic into place at her hipbones.

She'd shaved something else, too, and she wondered if she and Mackenzie would have a chance—the time, in particular—to get her down to nothing but her panties, so he could see. She knew boys liked that—that completely silky smooth feeling, and she liked pleasing boys in general. But she'd never wanted to please one as much as she wanted to please Mackenzie—and it wasn't lost on her that it was strange to want her brother to see her like that, to be captivated by how she'd feel.

She tried on the halter next, and couldn't believe how good it looked on her. It brought out highlights in her hair, which she always lamented was too dark to be interesting, and also shaded her eyes a darker color, which she found attractive, especially considering how she really wasn't all that pretty.

The jeans zipped and buttoned and clung to her ass like they'd been painted on, particularly with the thong she wore underneath. She grabbed her long sweater-coat, the one that folded over her hands, and yanked it on, slipped the one button into the hole and then crossed to her bed.

It was finally starting to get dark, but she had to wait at least a bit, and then—shit. She hadn't told Jo-Anne not to come over, and it also meant she was going to be walking to the school. She was gonna have to sneak out earlier than usual so that she would have time to walk it, which she didn't prefer—she'd be all sweaty by the time she got there—but she didn't have a choice. Jo-Anne would ask too many questions if she said she needed a ride to the school, and Jo would probably—like a terrier with its favorite toy—not drop the subject of Mackenzie.

Evan watched the sun dip down below her windowsill, heard George's car pull into the drive.

"Evan!" he shouted from downstairs, her fifteen-minute check, she supposed.

"I'm in my room!" she hollered back, and then the house was quiet. She didn't know where her mother was, or Meredith either, and George was probably in his study by now, satisfied that she was actually at home, so she took a risk and climbed out of her window even though her stepfather was still awake.

It was a beautiful night, stars tossed like jewels through the sky, which was struck through with navy blue to offset the bright silver of the stars.

But even though she noticed it peripherally, all she could really concentrate on was the fact that soon—like, twenty minutes soon—she was going to see Mackenzie again. This time they'd be alone.

This time they could do whatever they wanted. And God, but she _wanted_.

:::

Mackenzie didn't even pay attention to the clothes he threw on, because all he could think about was Evan—whether she'd show, whether she'd still want to kiss him, whether she'd look as amazing as she had before when he saw her in daylight.

"Cory!" he called through his stepbrother's door. They'd told Shirley that he and Cory were going to a movie together with a girl that Cory liked, and that they'd be out late. It was funny, for all of Shirley's failings, she didn't really give Mackenzie a curfew, though he imagined that would change if she found out he was abusing her generosity—so to speak—to sneak around with his sister. And not just to see her, either, but to kiss her, to touch her—God, he couldn't wait to get his hands on her again.

He was equal parts terrified and excited: terrified she wouldn't want that anymore, that she'd be disgusted or repulsed or think he was somehow not right in the head; excited because what if she did still want him? What if he got to kiss her again—to feel her body move against his and know that she was his?

But... was she? He was afraid he was going to have to ask her, and yet, he didn't want to; maybe he'd be able to kiss her and taste the reality on her lips. Drawn straight from her soul without having to actually say the words out loud.

"Cory," he said again, rapping on the wood with his knuckles. "You gotta drive me to the school." Cory knew he was meeting someone, but he thought it was another boy and that they were going to actually practise for the baseball team, which meant that Mackenzie had his bat and glove in one hand.

"I'll be right out," Cory yelled back. "I'm just putting on the finishing touches."

Mackenzie tapped the baseball bat against his foot a few times and wondered what that meant. And then he wondered why Cory would stoop to believe such an obvious lie—and finally the guilt came creeping in. Cory believed him because Cory thought he and Mackenzie were some sort of couple now, probably. After what Mackenzie had done, Cory probably felt secure enough in that that he didn't care what else Mackenzie did, because he was giving him the benefit of the doubt and assuming Mackenzie wasn't about to do something like "cheat" on him.

God, Mackenzie was a dick. But if it meant he could have his sister—he supposed he didn't really care.

After a moment, the door opened wide and Cory stepped into the frame. He was wearing freakin fake leather for Christ's sake, and eyeliner. Yeah, he totally didn't look gay at all.

"Uh, Cor?" Mackenzie said gingerly. "You might wanna trash the eyeliner—your mother's gonna notice."

"Have you seen this girl? To even hold her attention I've gotta dress myself up, dude."

Mackenzie grabbed one of Cory's tee-shirts from the dresser and started wiping at the eyeliner, streaking the white with black.

"You can't wear eyeliner, Cory. I'm serious; your mother will start to question you."

"Mackenzie, she's not gonna question it unless I tap-dance naked around the living room with another naked dude, and even then she'd probably just call it interpretive dance."

"Still. Fuck the makeup. That girl will like you however—she said yes, didn't she? Now we've been over this, you have to kiss her good night. No sense in baiting the fish if you're not going to reel it in, right?"

"I guess." Cory sounded horrified at the thought of kissing her, but Mackenzie ignored it and finished removing the eyeliner.

"The fake leather's kinda tacky, but I suppose it'll do," Mackenzie said doubtfully. "Anyway, dude, come on. You'll miss your movie."

"I'm all ready now," Cory said, and leaned forward, just catching the edge of Mackenzie's lips with his own. "Thanks for this, man," he said, as if Mackenzie were somehow doing him a favour instead of the other way around.

"Yeah, yeah," he said, and kissed Cory more firmly in return. Had to keep up the pretense, after all—if he kept kissing Cory, maybe Cory wouldn't notice that he was in love with someone else—someone completely inappropriate, at least according to everyone else in the world.

Cory linked hands with him for a second, staring hard into Mackenzie's eyes, and then he let go and they walked out to the car.

The drive was a short one, but Mackenzie was so anxious to see her again that it seemed interminable—like the time it takes from a space flight's launch to its landing.

But then again, they were pulling up to the school in what felt like no time at all, and Mackenzie was staring at the baseball field, his bat between his legs, fiddling with his glove on his lap.

"All right, I'll come back in a couple of hours," Cory said. "When the movie's done."

"Remember: kiss her good-night," Mackenzie reminded him again. "It's important. Just, I don't know, think about—"

"Jared Padalecki?" Cory supplied.

"Yeah, whoever," said Mackenzie. "Whoever you find hot."

"You should see him," Cory said dreamily. "I've never—"

"Yeah, I get it, look, you're gonna be late for your movie!" _And this is taking forever—I just wanna see her already!_

Mackenzie got out of the car, hands full of baseball gear, and watched Cory drive away before turning back to the field, barely lit by the outside lights of the school. Beneath the bleachers was nothing but shadow, but the moon shone bright like light sparking off a honed knife point and Mackenzie was already undressing Evan in his mind, even though he didn't plan to take things too far tonight.

:::

Evan knew he was on the green grass of the field before she even saw him. She could feel him, from the heat of his body to the strong throb of his pulse, and she wanted to fucking eat him, he smelled so good, and he wasn't even anywhere near her yet.

She stood up on the bench and waved, and he started running as soon as he saw her, flinging his baseball bat and glove to the ground and barrelling straight towards her.

When he got there, he went up the two levels of the bleachers and just lifted her right off her feet and swung her around. God, she'd missed that so much.

"Mackenzie!" she gasped, and then she hung her arms around his neck, hanging on as he took the steps back down. Once off the bleachers, he put her down, then tipped up her chin and kissed her delicately, then grabbed her hand and pulled her around and beneath the bleachers.

"Say it," Mackenzie demanded, apparently unable to help himself. "Say it, Ev. Tell me. Please."

"I love you," she said, then threw her arms out and wheeled around in happiness. "I love you so much!" she said, and she didn't even care in that moment if the entire world knew it. "And I still want you. God. Come here and kiss me already."

Mackenzie chased her deeper underneath the bleachers and when he caught up to her, he flung his arms around her and captured her, holding her still, and lowered his mouth to hers.

It was bliss. Perfect unadulterated bliss—like a high without the drug, or the hangover, or the sickness afterward. She turned her face up and to the side just enough and their mouths just _fit_ , lips between lips and teeth and tongues searching, and she'd never made out like this before. Never felt quite like this, like her blood was going to flow right out of her veins.

Mackenzie was hard against her, and she snuck her hand between their bodies, down to where he was biggest and the most swollen, and stroked over the head which was pressed against his thigh. He made a sound like she'd never heard before, and wrenched his mouth away from her.

"You want me," he said, but it wasn't really a question. "Oh, Evan, this is crazy, but if it's crazy, I just wanna be crazy with you. Forever." And then he touched her wrist. "We don't have to take it so fast," he whispered. "I wanna remember every moment with you for the rest of my life."

"I want to," she murmured against his lips. The beginning of stubble scratched at her skin. "I want you, so much," she said. "I can't wait."

"You can," Mackenzie said, and it was almost infuriating—why was he being such a prude? She flattened her palm against the bulge with a lot more pressure, and Mackenzie tossed his head back a little and hissed between his teeth. She had him right where she wanted him—what boy could resist that?

But then he grabbed her arm and tugged it away. "There will be time for that later," he said. "I plan to get to know every bit of you, inch by inch. And as slowly and in as much depth as possible."

"So romantic," she said. "What if I don't want romance? What if I just want—"

"You want romance," Mackenzie said with surety in his tone. "It's what you've been searching for, and you haven't found it in all those other boys. Haven't found anything but misery, Evan. I know you don't think of it that way but—"

She knew her eyes were giving her away. She knew that Mackenzie could read her, and she wanted to close up that wound, but who else but Mackenzie could knit it together again, could make her forget? She came closer, but this time she didn't go for his dick.

This time she just reached up and touched his face, sifted her fingers through his hair, the locks that fell too long over his forehead. He needed a haircut.

"Maybe I've just been waiting my whole life for this moment," she said. It sounded stupid, but... his expression was troubled, but he let her touch him, turning his face into the caress.

"Living with Dad is like no life at all," he said, lips moving against her palm. "He's never home, and Shirley is such a fucking tool, and all I ever wanted was you and I wasn't even allowed to say your name. Evan, please. I need you so much, but the sex—that isn't all I need. Sometimes I just need you."

"I'm right here," she said, and her heart hurt. Mackenzie sounded so hopeless, and he'd always been the strong one. She'd drowned all of her problems with as much acting out as she could, but Mackenzie wouldn't do that. He'd stay at home and brood. He'd swallow all of that sadness until it turned into a foul brew boiling in his stomach, and then it would kill him, but he would never tell anyone just how badly he felt. Just her.

"I do want to touch you," he said, and he kissed her palm with his lips parted, the hint of tongue against her skin. She'd never had anyone touch her with such tenderness—not even Jo-Anne, who thought she loved her.

Jo-Anne had no idea what love even was. She hadn't felt love for anyone. Evan knew that Jo had never felt anything like what she felt for Mackenzie—but then, who had? She and Mac were lucky. They were two perfect stars aligned, and nothing could hurt them now. They were together.

"I'm yours," she said, almost afraid to speak now. Night had fallen almost completely around them, a smothering darkness and ringing silence, and she didn't want to break it. She just wanted to feel Mackenzie's bare skin against her own—feel his sweat as it slowly seeped into her own skin.

She moved away from him, untucked the button from its hole on her sweater coat, then pulled it off, exposing the halter that clung to her breasts, left her shoulders shockingly bare. She fingered the tie that wrapped around her throat, then let the sweater coat fall to the ground.

Mackenzie's eyes went so wide she thought she could probably reach into them with her whole fist. He fixed them on her chest for a minute, then his gaze flew back up to her face.

"Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?" he asked. "Come here," he added, sitting cross-legged on the ground.

But Evan wasn't through yet. She followed the line of the halter tie behind her neck, carefully pulling the tail so that it slipped through the loops and free. The top gaped and caught against her hardened nipples, then fell forward and bunched up at her waist, her breasts now completely free for him to stare at, if he so chose.

Apparently he chose, because once she was naked to the waist, he couldn't seem to move his eyes from her chest. His look made her hot all over, in spite of the slight chill in the air that nipped at her skin. Her nipples tightened and pointed out even more, and she grew damp between her legs, the juice soaking through the lace thong.

While he watched, she shimmied out of the halter by raising it up over her head, then let it go somewhere in the vicinity of the sweater coat.

Clad now only in her jeans and panties, she stepped a little bit closer and could tell the exact instant that the moonlight flooded over her pale skin, ivory on ivory, because Mackenzie's mouth fell a little bit open. In prime positioning, she reached for the zipper on her jeans, but he stopped her by crawling forward suddenly, his face level with her groin.

He buried his face against her thigh, first, then slowly shifted so that his nose was against her most secret place, and she heard him inhale, and wondered if he could smell her. She could smell him, she'd been ensconced in it from the moment she first felt his presence in close proximity to her own.

He tilted his head back a little and reached for the little tab himself, and she buried her hands in his hair instead, working her nails against his scalp, and he shivered visibly, even as each of the little teeth gave way to his persistence. He inched the jeans down her hips, and his breath caught with an audible hitch as he uncovered the lacy panties.

"Oh, God, Evan," he said, and he couldn't get them down her legs fast enough after that; he shoved them down over her feet and she stepped out of them, and then his face was back against her, sideways so that his cheek was right on the shaved mound beneath the lace. "You're amazing," he said with reverence. "You and I, we're two of a kind, right? Can I—"

"Kiss me," she said, and he didn't have to ask her what she meant. He slipped a finger in between the elastic of the leg and then tugged the lace aside, flimsy covering that it was. And then he did: he kissed her, mouth an open press against her shaven skin, like a stamp that she'd feel for the rest of her life. "More," she said, and she tightened her fingers against his skull. And Mackenzie obliged, working a hand between her thighs and urging them apart. She spread them, and her knees went weak as his breath washed hot and moist over the wet center of her arousal.

Just his breath, and she was already halfway there. And then she felt his tongue against her flesh, decadent and soft, and a streak of wet across her lips, and then he nudged them apart with his finger, pushed it up inside—and it went in easy, so easy, his finger coated with her slick—and his tongue found her especially sensitive place. He swept his tongue up under the little hood of flesh and began to circle it, swirling his tongue around as he pumped his finger into her, and she gasped, squeezed her hands into fists—and he didn't even complain about the pressure on his head—and a tremor went through her whole body from head to foot.

This was something she'd never really experienced, and Mackenzie wasn't even that good at it—why would he be?—but it was like he'd studied it off the internet or something, carefully orchestrated and executed, and his finger suddenly went in further than it had before and brushed against something inside of her that made her jittery, and she bit down hard on a scream and felt the tremor move through her again with more force, drawing more and more like a storm whipping itself into a fury, and then she felt everything crash over her at once.

Her body went out of her control, wracked with pulse after pulse of pleasure, and through it all Mackenzie kept stroking the inside of her channel with his finger, his tongue still flirting with her all the while, and he kept it up even as her legs went out from underneath her, but he held her up with his hands snug on her hipbones.

And then he slowly drew away and looked up at her, a thin silvery thread of what might be saliva, or might be her own fluids, trailing from her body and dangling from his lower lip. It caught the moonlight perfectly, and then he licked his lips and it broke.

"Oh my God," she said, and collapsed onto the ground, her entire being still rocked by the experience. Imagine: her best orgasm, and her brother had given it to her. It was almost too much to take in.

He wrapped his arms around her, snuggled up close. "Just stay," he said. "Just like this. I wanna remember you just like this. So beautiful."

"No," she said, "no! You have to—"

"I don't," he said, but she couldn't let him do that—be all noble and chivalrous. She pressed her hand to the ridge of his dick again. He didn't move away this time, though he did slowly lower her down so that she was lying in the grass on her back, and then he began to kiss up her belly, his tongue tickling and twisting patterns into her skin as he went.

It seemed to take him forever, and soon her hands were fisting the grass as he kissed her, laved every inch of her.

"I wanna learn what you taste like everywhere," he said, lips moving against her skin. "Let me—just let me have this, and then you can do whatever you want. Almost."

"All right," she acquiesced, but mostly because at that point she would've said yes to anything. He sucked a bruise right onto the spot just above her navel, and she was suddenly glad that she wouldn't put out for Jo-Anne—and then she felt guilty for even thinking of anyone else while she had Mackenzie completely undone at her feet.

He dragged his lips over her skin, leaving an over-sensitized trail in his wake, and she quivered above and below as he moved, and then his mouth was in the valley between her breasts, but he didn't kiss her breasts, not right away; no, he just kept licking at the spot between them, kissing and pressing the edges of his teeth into her flesh.

A cloud passed over the moon and for a moment everything was in darkness so complete she couldn't see a thing, and then it passed, but the shadow lingered on her somehow, like there was something she should know—something she should be aware of—but then, at last, he flicked his tongue out against the inner flesh of her breast. He kissed up and over the roundness—and she had a fleeting memory of why they were still bigger than they used to be—and then his lips were sealed over her nipple, his tongue flickering against the tip.

He sucked at her nipple, rolling it around in his mouth, then bared his teeth, clasped them around it and tugged a little, and it was like an electric wire that ran directly to her lower body, because she arched up under his mouth, trying to shove her breast the rest of the way into his mouth, and at the same time his fingers were suddenly at her entrance again, and he moved them inside with a finesse that surprised her even as he wrung another moan and gasp from her tortured throat.

"Mackenzie, please," she whimpered, and knew that she was climbing up that mountain again, to the apex and almost ready to go flying over and down into that bliss she'd only ever felt like this, on her back—and even then, that was only if she was lucky.

He moved his mouth, leaving her one breast wet and aching, and turned his attention to the other, and again and again his fingers thrust into her depths as he nibbled at her nipple, teasing it, stretching it in his mouth, and she cried out, louder than she meant to, and dirt caked under her fingernails as her body convulsed again, every muscle locking and releasing, fluttering under her skin with the pleasure he'd given her.

When he finally raised his head, she could barely move, except to twist her dirty hands into his hair, tangling the strands almost painfully and then yanking his lips up to hers.

Once he'd covered her mouth with his, once his tongue was doing sweet things to her mouth instead of her body, she let her own hand travel down the length of his body and she flipped open each button until she could get her hand inside his jeans, over the cotton-clad bulge of his cock.

He felt somehow different than any other guy she'd had her hands on, and she didn't think it was because he was her twin. It had more to do with the love that pumped through her heart like her blood, hot and thick, and it was thick like his cock under her fingers, and she squeezed it gently, and then she slid her hand down, through the opening in the cotton until the hot sleek hardness was in direct contact with her palm. She ran her nails so gently over the crown, then dipped her finger under and pressed into the sensitive spot just beneath, and Mackenzie moaned, his hips jerking up into her hand.

"I love you," she said, and she made her body move, though it felt like trying to convince liquid to flow upwards. And then she made a circle with her lips over the still cloth-covered head of his dick, and he made another crazy sound, and it was so true—they were crazy, but what did it matter?

She mouthed over the cotton until it was just as damp with her spit as it had been with his precome, and then it struck her, a sudden amazing revelation.

"Happy birthday," she said, the knowledge that he was now fifteen burning through her. It must have been after midnight, the moon still high and faintly disapproving in the sky, and she untucked his cock from his boxer briefs and opened her mouth.

Here was one person she could do this for, and never feel guilty about it, never hate herself in the morning. Here was her last chance, a chance to redeem herself through the love of her brother.

She closed her lips around the crown, and when he grabbed handfuls of her hair, she looked up and met his gaze.

:::

Mackenzie spurted down her throat without even needing her to suck—just the fact that she had her lips wrapped around his dick was enough to make his brain swim and his cock spasm.

And she swallowed every drop.

Beneath the rush of orgasm, he thought, _where did she learn to do that, and why were her eyes so sad before?_

:::

Mackenzie surprised her by coming before she even had a chance to show off her prowess, which was a little disappointing, but his inexplicable expertise at giving head to a girl aside, he'd probably never even had a blowjob, knowing her brother. She worked to swallow it all, and when he stopped spurting down her throat, she fisted the base of his cock through the last of his orgasm, then pulled off.

When she fixed her eyes on Mackenzie's again, her brother looked dazed, completely overcome—his hair was sweaty against his forehead, the fine blond strands gilded silver by moonlight, and sweat caught the same light and filtered it back to her in tiny glittering sparkles like some of her favorite eyeshadow.

"Jesus Christ," he said when he'd managed to slow his breathing to a more normal rhythm. "Jesus, Evan," he repeated.

She looked at him carefully, and she didn't really need to voice her question, because the expression—besides "blissed out" and "just came hard"—was one of confusion. He had liked it, of course he had—all the boys did. What compared to a really good blowjob, really? Even one where she'd barely had the opportunity to show off—and she so wanted to show off. She couldn't wait till the next time they managed to meet up, so she could do it again—maybe he'd have more stamina then.

But she read concern in his eyes, on his face; he was concerned for her. About her. Her lips turned down. She didn't want his pity—she didn't want his concern. What she wanted was his sexuality, his love, his hopefully insatiable appetite for her. But she could still see that as soon as he recovered, he was going to start asking questions.

She thought of Kevin again, and knew without a doubt that she could never, ever mention him to Mackenzie. Even though he was usually mild-mannered, she had no idea what he'd do if he learned of something that he might construe or misunderstand as abuse.

Of course, it had been her own fault—she'd given in, she'd allowed herself to be manipulated—she'd done as she was told, but she had wanted to do it, in some fashion. She couldn't let Mackenzie find out about that—or about her nickname. He already knew too much about her sexual history, and she knew next to nothing about his. Really, the only thing she knew about his was that he was apparently sleeping with his stepbrother and that he'd probably not done much more than that—Mackenzie was lovely and she loved him, but he was kind of a prude.

There was no way to explain how she knew that. She just did. She was still surprised he'd gotten her off—but he really must have studied that in some magazine or book, because she doubted he had any real-life experience with getting a girl off. Hell, even though she'd seen the way Cory looked at Mackenzie, she would be surprised if he knew how to give a blowjob.

Or even a hand job.

Speaking of which, she kind of wanted his hands on her again, wanted his fingers up inside her and his thumb on her most sensitive area, but maybe it was too much to hope for—a third orgasm, or even that he'd know how to give her one with just his hands. She reached over and laced her fingers through one of Mackenzie's hands. She loved his hands—she always had; they'd comforted her when they were young, held her own when they crossed the street, brushed away tears.

And now he'd given her pleasure with them, and that didn't feel nearly as strange as it should have. It, more than anything else, just felt good, like she'd opened her mouth and swallowed a bunch of stars.

With her other hand, she palmed closed his mouth and held it there. She didn't want him to speak—to break the beautiful spell woven around them like threads of gossamer silk. To shatter what illusions she had left by asking the uncomfortable questions she could read in his eyes.

"I love you," she said again, unable to help herself. He was so fucking pretty, lying there in the grass, strikingly highlighted by moonlight, his eyes glued to hers. "It's not fair," she said, taking her hand out of his and lifting it to his face, using the pad of one finger to ghost over his eyelashes. "You're so beautiful, it ought to be illegal."

He licked her palm and made a _mmpphh_ noise. She slid her hand down the curve of his jaw and cupped it, so that he could speak, even though she was still a little afraid of what he might say.

"No more than you," he said, though, surprising her. "Ev, you don't hold yourself in high enough esteem. You're—you're like temptation on a stick," he finally said, and that startled a laugh out of her.

"That's some kind of analogy," she said, her customary snark rising once more to the surface. But even though he shrugged one shoulder, she knew he was used to it. "No, really. I'm not as pretty as Jo-Anne, or you, or—"

"We're twins, you nitwit," Mackenzie said fondly. "How can you possibly not be as beautiful as me? Especially since you seem so enraptured. You should see your face."

"Shut up," she said, but stroked her thumb over his jaw, up and across the fullness of his lips. She longed to kiss them again, but most boys hated open-mouthed kissing after you'd just drunk down their jizz.

"Evan—" he started to say, and she shook her head slightly.

"Please don't ask," she said. "It's not important." She could see that he wanted to argue, to assign an importance to it that wasn't really there, but he accepted the shake of her head and closed his mouth.

"I love you too," he said, when he next spoke. He sounded a little bit out-of-breath, and when she straddled him, lying down across his chest with her cheek pressed against his heart, she could feel the burgeoning erection. He was young—it made sense. Even the seventeen-year-old hadn't needed more than a few minutes.

She contemplated giving him another blowjob, but she was so comfortable lying against him, his hand nestled at the small of her back, that she didn't want to move. Unless he was going to use that promising hard-on to fuck her with—though she supposed he probably wouldn't. He didn't seem to be in any hurry to get into her pants—well, anymore than he already had.

"Happy birthday to you, too, Ev," he said softly into the strands of her hair falling across his chest. When he spoke, his breath disturbed the strands of hair at the top of her head and it tickled in a way that shouldn't have felt good, but did anyway. "This is possibly the best birthday present I've ever gotten," he added.

"Me too," she said. "You want—"

But he filled one hand with her hair and let the strands glide between his fingernails as he cuddled her. "It's late, Evan. Cory should be here soon to pick me up, and you need to get home. I want him to drive you—"

"Can't," she said. "We'll be seen together. Can't be seen together any more than strictly necessary," she cautioned. "People will talk—and if they talk, they'll draw conclusions. If we want this to last, we can't let that happen."

"I know," he said, and dropped his hand from her hair. She missed it within half a second of its absence. "But I don't want you walking home alone."

"I'll be fine," she said. "I do it all the time. Besides, giving me a ride means Cory seeing us together, and that counts."

"God," he said, and he rubbed a hand down her face, and she turned it up to his, pushed up on her hands and hung her head low over his, lips almost touching. "Kiss me, Ev," he said. "Kiss me goodnight so that I have something sweet to remember as I fall asleep."

"You sure?" she asked. "I mean, I just—"

"You really think that matters to me?" he asked, and she didn't wait for a second invitation. She mouthed over his lips for a second, just spreading spit across them, then sunk her tongue into his mouth, letting the feelings wash over her as he kissed her back, tilting his head slightly so that their mouths meshed more exquisitely together, and she completely forgot about the taste of his come probably still lingering on her tongue, forgot everything but the feel of him underneath her, his hard dick against her, his tongue filling her mouth.

God, she wanted his dick to fill her up like that.

And then it was over, so fast it was like she couldn't even remember it had happened. Too quick. She darted down for another kiss, and landed a crooked slip of the tongue over the corner of his mouth, just a little bit inside, and then she took a breath and rolled off of him.

"All right," she said, and sat up. She searched around in the faint light for her clothes, and Mackenzie did up his jeans, then helped her back into her halter top, tying the back of it while she held her hair up.

"I'll see you Monday," he said, pressing a kiss right at the nape of her neck just below her hairline. "I don't want to wait that long, but I don't think we should push our luck."

"I will miss you so much," she said, turning and falling into his arms so that he caught her against him, her nipples still peaked from the cold. She couldn't even imagine being away from him for the next five minutes, much less almost a day and a half.

"I know," he said, and touched her lips with his finger. "I will miss you, too. God, I wish for the days when we went to sleep in the same room."

"So do I," she said wistfully. "Holy crap," she exclaimed, "we suck at saying good-bye. If you don't get home, your stepmother will probably lock you in your room."

"I love you," Mackenzie said almost desperately. "I don't want you to go."

"I don't want to go, either," she said. "But—but we have to. Soon. I'll just keep in my heart the fact that I will see you soon."

"All right," Mackenzie said, and stepped away from her with visible effort. He turned and started walking away, as if putting enough distance between them would make the parting easier.

As she watched his back grow smaller and smaller, she knew that nothing could make parting from him easier.


	2. Chapter 2

Cory was waiting by the entrance to the school when Mackenzie finished crossing the field. He opened the car door and hopped in, quickly, and said,

"It's after midnight, we have to hurry." He slammed the door closed and Cory looked at him. Cory's mouth was very, very red.

"I don't see your teammate," he remarked, as he threw the car into drive and pulled out of the parking lot.

"Yeah, he left already," Mackenzie said. He tried hard not to flush, thinking of Evan, her sweet face, the sweet nectar between her thighs… he'd never eaten a girl out before, but he listened, and he was on the baseball team. The guys, especially the older guys, talked _a lot._ So Mackenzie just tried to put what he'd heard to practical use.

Cory was saying something, and Mackenzie realized he'd practically gone into a daze thinking about his sister. He was fifteen now—they both were—and he'd gotten to spend that magical time, the clock switching over to their birthday, with _her._

The one person he'd rather be with over anyone else, which caused some guilt to bubble up when he considered Cory's feelings again.

"Are you listening?" Cory said, loud enough to break into Mackenzie's thoughts and scatter them all over.

"Mm, yeah?" Mackenzie said. "How was the movie?"

"Never mind that," Cory said. "I barely saw any of it because I was too busy fending off Miss Grabby Hands. I swear, she was like an octopus! Her hands were _everywhere_. And if you thought it was possible to get it up from just some hands on action, you'd be wrong! Shit, I think she's figured me out, Mackenzie."

"Did you kiss her goodnight?" he asked, carefully sliding his palm along the seat, up onto Cory's thigh, slowly. He had to distract him; Mackenzie was still hard from those last few moments with Evan, and Cory, frustrated and upset about his date, might just try to _touch_ Mackenzie. He had to have a compelling reason for a hard on.

So he scrambled to make up for it by thumbing over Cory's knee a few times over his jeans. Cory sucked in a breath and the car shook a little as he accelerated unevenly.

"Oh. fuck, yeah," Cory breathed, and took his eyes off the road to glance at Mackenzie.

"Did you kiss her?" he repeated. Cory sighed, an uneven thread of his breath. Mackenzie forced himself to keep touching Cory, even though all he could think about—his mind was saturated with it, with _her_ —was Evan's thighs, creamy and smooth, and the tantalizing freckles on her shoulders set off by moonlight. His eyes fluttered closed and he remembered her _taste_ , and the shape of her, and—

"I did, but it was hard, Mac. She—"

But the rest of what he said was lost, because Evan's nickname for him just reminded him of her all over again. He didn't think he'd ever be able to brush his teeth again, and rinse the taste of her out of his mouth. He couldn't shower; he could barely bring himself to breathe because those breaths took place away from her. How was there oxygen in the world when Evan wasn't nearby, wasn't in his arms?

"—and she wanted to use her tongue on me, I could tell, but I… you know I don't even know what I did, exactly, just that she gave me this like, fucking funny _look_ , and then she went inside her house and I came to pick you up. Oh fuck, Mac, keep doing that," Cory was babbling, and Mackenzie realized he was still touching Cory's—shit, at some point he'd run his fingers upward, and now he was rubbing circles over Cory's thigh. He was pretty sure it was because he'd been so distracted by thinking about Evan that it was almost like he thought he was touching her again.

Oh, to be a breath from her lips! A freckle on her skin! Anything, to be near her always. And when Cory parked the car in the drive, he turned to Mackenzie with lust on his lips as he leaned over and kissed Mackenzie.

Mackenzie jolted back. Oh no, this wouldn't do, he thought helplessly. He had to—he had to be nice to Cory, right? He couldn't just ditch him completely; besides, they were stepbrothers. They lived together.

But kissing him felt like a betrayal. Now that he'd had the honey straight from her lips, he couldn't bear the bitter apple of another's mouth. He yanked his hand back and pushed his hair behind his ears; it was growing long, and pretty soon Shirley would have a hissy fit about it.

"Not here, remember?" he hissed, nodding towards the house. "Your mom is probably up waiting for us. And it's almost one o'clock. She's gonna be mad as it is."

"Please," Cory begged, his green eyes pleading. "Just one little kiss, to wipe the taste of _girl_ out of my mouth. Like a palette cleanser."

"No," Mackenzie said, scrambling for an explanation as to why not. "Your mom, Cor. She would have heard the car, and—"

"Fine," Cory said, "not now. But can I come to your bedroom later?"

"It's too late tonight," Mackenzie protested. "Shirley is on call at the hospital this weekend, right? She could catch us."

Cory threw open the car door.

"You might be right," he said, "but why are you being so mean all of a sudden?"

He dashed up to the house while Mackenzie sat there a moment longer, considering those words. How long could he keep up this charade, when all he wanted was to sip at Evan's lips again, make her breathless with the same longing that flowed, hot and unrelenting, in his veins?

How long could he bring himself to wait before he made her fully his?

:::

As Evan shimmied up the rose trellis to her room, she wondered why George hadn't taken it down yet. He had to know it was how she escaped the house so often, right?

Or maybe it was the fact that George always seemed to sleep so _hard_. He didn't wake up if the phone rang right by his head.

But as she threw herself over the sill of her window and climbed back into her room, her thoughts turned back to Mackenzie, as they were wont to do. Sometimes it felt like her thoughts folded in on themselves like origami, until at the very center there was a secret pearl: her brother's name, his image, his _love_.

It was the truth: only Mackenzie loved her. Laurel was a waste of space, with her buddy-buddy attitude and harebrained ideas. Evan often thought that she stayed with George because he had money, and he liked her. Otherwise Evan figured Laurel would have moved them again by now—but thank fuck she had met and married George!

And so they'd stayed in Greenefield, and Evan had found her brother again—at last! She did a little twirl around her room, then remembered just how late it was.

She had to pee. Quickly, she divested herself of all of her sexy clothes and slipped into a babydoll. She kept on the panties she'd been wearing—they reminded her of Mackenzie's mouth on her, his tongue flicking against her. The amazing heat of it.

But when Evan slipped out of her room to trod down the hall to the bathroom, she realized those two orgasms had made her hungry. She was heading towards the kitchen—might as well grab a snack before she brushed her teeth—when she heard someone talking.

Creeping close to the stairwell, she made out Meredith's voice.

"I think she's essentially a good kid, Dad," she was saying. "Some teenage hijinks, sure. But she's the little fish in school again. Those upperclassmen are not going to eat out of her hand. They'll put her in her place."

Evan stuffed her fist in her mouth to keep from laughing. Showed what Meredith knew! She'd probably already fucked more high school boys than Meredith ever had. Not that it mattered anymore—now that she had Mackenzie back, he was the only boy she wanted to fuck for the rest of her life.

She'd marry him if she could, and if that was gross to other people, fuck it, they could suck it, she didn't _fucking care_. He was hers.

"She drinks, she smokes, she had an abortion at fourteen—Merry, baby, I don't know what to do. I've tried to be understanding. I've tried to be kind. I've been harsh. She just doesn't respond to _anything_."

"I'll keep trying," Meredith replied, and Evan's mood soured, her laughter gone. So Meredith _was_ a plant. Just trying to help ol' daddy keep the bad seed in line.

Fuck them both. Evan didn't need anyone anyway. She had Jo-Anne for excuses, and she had Mackenzie for love.

She went back down the hall to the bathroom, used it, brushed her teeth, and went back to her room. Her stomach growled, but she resolutely ignored it; it felt strange to be hungry again, anyway. The baby had made her appetite vanish.

Even though it was early Sunday morning, and she only had to wait till Monday to see him again, Evan couldn't sleep for thinking about Mackenzie.

Her hand remained cupped over her shaved pussy and she just laid there and relived every last gleaming moment, from his first kisses, to his cock in her mouth, and just remembering the way it parted her lips so wide made her wet.

Made her come.

:::

"You seem unusually happy this morning, Mackenzie," Shirley said as she buttered her toast. "Was it a good movie?"

Mackenzie was _starving_. He was so busy shoveling eggs into his mouth that he—gratefully—couldn't answer. For one thing, because he hadn't actually seen the movie. For another, because all of his happiness was tied up in Evan, and that was a secret that _had_ to be kept.

He honestly wasn't sure how Shirley could tell he was happy. Did it show on his face? He knew he wasn't smiling—he was chewing.

"It's nice to see you with such a hearty appetite! Finally. I think those sessions with Dr. Forbes must really be helping you. With my experience as a doctor, I know how edifying and healing therapy can be. And—"

"Mom," Cory said, and Mackenzie was thankful for the interruption.

"Don't interrupt me, Cory. You know better. You'll get your turn. Do you want more waffles?" Shirley nudged the plate of fluffy Belgian waffles closer to Cory's place setting. "Listen, Mackenzie. I'm going to go ahead and schedule a few more appointments for you with Dr. Forbes. Okay?"

Mackenzie put down his fork. He picked up his orange juice, took a sip, swished it around his mouth while he thought. He was pretty sure Shirley didn't actually care if it was okay with him—which it wasn't. He didn't want to go back to that stupid shrink! That lady hadn't done anything but screw him up _more_ —though in some ways, it was a good thing, because being with Evan—and touching her, and holding her—was better than anything else he'd experienced in his life.

He used to think that way about baseball; now that he'd had a bite of forbidden fruit, it was sweeter than anything else he could imagine.

"Mackenzie?" Shirley rudely broke into his thoughts. He gulped down the sip of juice and shrugged, trying to affect a sullenness he didn't really feel. But appearances were everything—if she really believed he was happy, she might start to question _why_.

It was imperative that no one ever, ever figure out that it was connected to Evan, or that they were attending the same school, in the same town. Mackenzie didn't know what would happen if they found out, but he knew it wouldn't be good.

Yet he found himself thanking a God he didn't really believe in that fate had led him back to his sister, the one thing that mattered.

"I don't wanna go back," he said, and stabbed at his waffles with his knife. The syrup splooshed around on the plate, oozing here and there like blood. Like the blood that he and Evan shared, thicker than water. "I don't need therapy. I've told you that again and again."

"Well," Shirley huffed. "It's clearly helping you, and I think I would know what's best in this case. You might even need medication."

Mackenzie met her eyes with a startled glance. Was she fucking kidding? So much for her pleasure in his supposed "recovery." Now that he had shot her down again, she was back to being as nasty as ever.

"Well, don't look at _me_ like that," Shirley said, as if she were the wronged party. "If your happiness isn't from the therapy, then it might be some kind of mania. And—"

Cory took his life in his hands and said, interrupting again,

"You can't diagnose Mac, Mom. You know it's not your job. You're too close to the situation."

"Oh my God," Shirley said, shoving her chair back and standing, her hands flat on the table, "I will not be spoken to like this in my own home! First Mackenzie talks back, and now my own son is trying to tell me how to do my job?"

"You didn't even ask me about my date," Cory added, and Mackenzie brushed his knee with his fingers under the table; a thank-you.

"Perhaps later," Shirley said, not at all mollified. "I think you both should finish breakfast and then go to your rooms for now. I find I'm not in the mood for this kind of company." She stalked off towards the kitchen with the near-empty plate of waffles. "Imagine," Mackenzie could hear her muttering to herself, "children acting as if they know what's best."

"Come on," Cory said, and it hit Mackenzie like a truck, the knowledge that Cory hadn't done that, stood up to his mom, to be altruistic or actually protect Mackenzie. No, he just wanted to forget about last night, to try and kiss ass so he could get more action.

Mackenzie drank the last of his juice and stood up.

"Look, it's great that you took one for the team, but that's the best I can offer right now. Besides… do you think your mom forgot that today's a school day?"

"I can drive you to school," Cory offered, and Mackenzie shook his head.

"Dad arranged for me to take the bus from now on," he explained, thinking about how it was only the second day of school. He wondered how Evan got to school—she'd walked, last night, to meet him, but he didn't think she had to walk every day.

And the thought of her, and her bright smile, her long black curls, it all elevated his mood once again.

:::

"Remember, straight home after school," George said, as he scrambled some eggs for breakfast. Meredith was reading a textbook at the dining room table and Laurel was probably still in bed; Evan's mom wasn't exactly a morning person.

Evan slid into a chair at the table. Next to her place setting was a brown paper bag. Meredith sighed and glanced up from her studies.

"You can't wear that to school today," she said. She was eating a carrot stick. Evan wrinkled her nose.

"Aren't you eating breakfast? And what's wrong with this?"

"You look like a shameless flirt, is what's wrong with it," George said as he brought the frying pan over and nudged some eggs onto her plate. "Look in the bag. I had to wake poor Meredith up early to make sure you would make a good impression on your guidance counselor today."

"Fuck that," Evan said, stabbing the eggs with her fork rather viciously. "You just want me to make a good impression so _you_ don't look bad." She was wearing a tight t-shirt with the letters _F@#ck_ on it and a miniskirt. The skirt was blue with woven stars all over it, and it made Evan think of Mackenzie, and how much they shared. How much they had in common—and how lucky she was all of a sudden. Almost three years later and she finally had her twin back. The other part of her soul.

People said "soulmates" like they really understood what that meant, but Evan _did_. She knew what it meant because Mackenzie was literally the most perfect extension of her being.

"Language, for heaven's sake," George said with exasperation. "I'm doing this for your own good. Evan, I'm doing _all_ of it for your own good. Open the bag, please?"

He sounded so pathetically pleading it almost made Evan want to laugh. What a loser-douche, thinking he could control her, or that he really knew what was best for her—she wasn't his kid, and she wasn't required to like him. His attempts to _play daddy_ were _not_ going to work on her.

She stuffed her face with eggs and, rolling her eyes at him as he watched her, opened the bag. Inside was a navy blue pleated skirt and a white button-down blouse.

"These are old lady clothes," Evan said, her words muffled somewhat by the eggs. Meredith chomped down on another carrot stick and then, pointing what was left of it at Evan, said,

"They are not. But they are classy clothes like a young lady like you should be wearing."

"I'll put jeans on," Evan grumbled. She inhaled the rest of her eggs.

"You'll wear that," George said. "Think of it as part of your punishment. It was a mistake to let you pick out your own clothes for so long."

Evan scowled. The mistake actually belonged to Laurel, though she didn't think George was going to admit to that; he probably didn't want to make her mother look bad. But it was Laurel who always took Evan shopping, and she never vetoed anything Evan picked out. Though, to be fair, Evan never tried any of it on in front of her—and had been known to slip things in the shopping bags that she hadn't paid for and her mother didn't know about.

"It's partly my fault too, Daddy," Meredith said. "I didn't think she'd wear party clothes to school."

Evan threw her a dirty look. Meredith had been pretty enthusiastic about the things Evan had chosen on their shopping trip—now that she knew why, it was even more maddening that Meredith would turn on Evan and help force her to wear disgusting blah clothes like these. But Meredith didn't know Evan had overheard them talking.

"Fine. I'll wear the fucking clothes." Evan pushed her chair back with a screech against the polished wood floor. George's entire house was like that: shiny and polished, like he was somehow that shiny and polished inside, too. Evan hoped she'd left a mark in the hardwood.

She snatched up the bag and went to change.

"I'll drive you to school," Meredith said, crunching on another carrot stick. Evan held up her middle finger over her shoulder. Like she wanted a ride from that bitch now.

"My friend Jo-Anne is picking me up. Don't fucking trouble yourself on my account," Evan said, and stomped up the stairs.

:::

The drive to school seemed to take forever, in Evan's estimation. She was listening to Jo-Anne prattle on and on about her date, when all she wanted to do was stare out the window, think about _her_ date, and daydream—about Mackenzie. His hazel eyes, his golden blond hair, his cock… it didn't matter. She could dwell on any of it for hours. It didn't seem real that she would have to focus on classes all day, or that she was going to see him again—and so soon!

"Hey, chica, are you listening to me? I'm not sure what Cory's deal is, but he's weird."

"I thought he was perfect because he was 'taking things slow,'" Evan remarked, but her brain was still waltzing with thoughts of Mackenzie.

"Yeah, that's what I thought too, but last night, I tried my patented best kisses on him, and it was like he was immune! He even kind of pushed me back." Jo shoved a CD in the player, but then she immediately turned the radio off, as if she was discombobulated and didn't know what to do with herself. "I mean, during the movie it was like he actually wanted to watch the movie."

"Wow, what a tool," Evan said sarcastically, but Jo-Anne went on like she hadn't registered Evan's tone of voice.

"Maybe he is just shy. But most boys don't exactly sit around and ignore my best attributes. I'm not sure he even noticed my boobs, or the fact that you could almost see my nipples! He said I had nice jeans, though." Jo-Anne got quiet for a moment, and Evan peered out into the fall sunlight beginning to spill through the trees and dapple the ground.

"Hey, babe. Isn't today your birthday?" Jo-Anne asked suddenly. "I tried throwing rocks at your window last night, was gonna take you out after the movie for some liquor and rock candy, but you didn't answer. Were you actually sleeping?"

Evan had a suspicion that when Jo-Anne said "rock candy," she really meant some kind of drugs. Maybe even harder drugs that Evan had ever tried. She was beginning to thank her lucky stars—those same ones that shined down on her and Mackenzie—that she'd gone to meet him last night.

She didn't really feel the urge to pollute her body anymore. There was Mackenzie to think about now.

"It is my birthday," Evan said. "Fifteen years old, and pretty soon I can enroll in drivers' ed."

"Imagine, and then you can drive yourself to school." Jo-Anne sounded bitter. Evan wasn't entirely sure why; she didn't think it was her fault.

"Oh, the buses got here before us," Evan said, as Jo-Anne pulled into a parking space. Evan jumped out of the car and, as if all the air had suddenly been sucked out of the atmosphere, watched Mackenzie climb down the steps of the bus.

His beauty awed her. The fact that he was hers made her heart turn somersaults. And he was _here_ —at school, so near her she could barely take a full breath.

She forgot all about Jo-Anne _and_ drivers' ed classes. All she could think about was Mackenzie—his lips on hers, his hands smoothing down the slopes of her shoulders—and how she was absolutely going to _have to_ start taking the bus.

:::

It was more difficult than Mackenzie thought it would be to be near Evan—behind her in homeroom—and act like he hadn't spent Saturday night with his face being squeezed by her thighs as she came.

Every movement she made reminded him of the way her body had moved when it came unstrung with pleasure. He could barely concentrate on Ms. Fornahan calling roll and nearly missed his name when she got to him. At the last moment, he threw his hand up and said,

"Here!" probably more loudly than he should have. But inwardly he was still struggling: not to get hard at the scent of her, which was clean and fresh and faintly tinged of peaches; not to lean closer to her neck and whisper against it, in the hopes that she'd gravitate back towards him; or not to forget altogether that they weren't alone.

He was perilously close to forgetting about how vital it was to keep their secret; he even thought about passing her a note. When the bell rang to end homeroom, and it was time to dash off to his first period class, he almost bumped into her because she stood up, so graceful it made his body tighten and ache, and then bent over to get her bag. He wasn't expecting that. He should have been; he'd seen her put it on the floor when she sat down.

But regardless he took a step and then put his hands out to steady himself just as she got back to her feet, and his fingers almost grazed her back, directly over a spot that her tank didn't cover, and oh, it was so close. Had he touched her, he wasn't certain he would have been able to pull back, to _stop_ touching her.

Then she glanced over her shoulder, and her beautiful face didn't change, but he got the message anyway: she was as desperate for him as he was for her.

He followed her out of the classroom, down the hall to a place where the hall forked, and she went left and he went right and that was the last he would see of her until lunch, and he felt so bereft, so empty, it was like someone had suddenly died. Like the place where all his emotions were stored was hollowed out, like a vacant house with broken windows.

It wasn't until he was sliding into his seat in first period English that he realized he hadn't said a word to anyone all morning, beyond announcing his presence in homeroom.

And then English crawled; they were supposed to be writing down character attributes and crafting tiny little fictions, but the only thing Mackenzie could think of to do was describe his sister.

_Blond hair_ , he wrote, because it couldn't be obvious. _Grey-green eyes_ , he added on the line below. _And the grey sometimes shifts to stormy-ocean blue_ , Mackenzie thought fondly.

He added a few red herrings, and then, just as he was getting to the end of the worksheet, the teacher said something.

Mackenzie barely heard him. He was wrapped up in his thoughts—in thoughts of Evan, actually. He was remembering the way her soft skin had felt beneath his fingertips and wondering if he could describe breast size on his character. Hers were larger than he expected, and he kept thinking about it, like he couldn't drag his mind away. It was as if everything marked _Evan_ in his brain drew his attention like the earth drew objects to it. But somehow, he felt like, if he were with Evan, kissing her, holding her—he could _fly_.

:::

"Maybe I'll just give Cory another chance," Jo-Anne said at lunchtime. "He's awfully cute. Maybe that dress with the scoop back—you know the one, the red one? I bet he won't be able to resist me in that."

"Mmm-hmm," Evan replied, searching through her backpack for a pen. She was going to write Mackenzie a note, maybe get his stepbrother to deliver it to him—because, even though she'd hardly heard Jo-Anne, she glanced up and discovered that Jo's monologue was probably inspired by the fact that Cory was approaching their table.

Evan badly wanted to just, _go sit with_ Mackenzie, but she was afraid of what her fair complexion would accuse her off if she was close to him. It was only the second day of school—too early to be hooking up with someone she'd professed not to know yet.

If she got caught kissing Jo-Anne, for instance, she could laugh airily and play it off as the fact that they'd been friends before. But get caught even looking at Mackenzie like she wanted him—like she'd eat him up if she could—and people would start to talk. They would _notice_.

It wasn't like she and Mackenzie couldn't be friends, or be seen together, _eventually_. But right now that would draw more attention to themselves than they could afford, so Evan unpacked her lunch that she'd brought from home and settled onto the cafeteria table bench.

Picking up the pen she'd found at the bottom of her bag, she stuck the end of it in her mouth and gnawed it absentmindedly as she tried to decide what to say to him. It had to be a coded message—but now she didn't know what to write. A letter to a brother? A love letter?

What did you do when you wanted to write a love letter to your twin brother?

"Hi," Cory said, and distantly Evan heard Jo gushing about something—the movie they'd gone to see together, maybe? She peeked up from underneath her eyelashes. Jo was practically glittering with her desire to flirt, and Cory looked shy, ill-at-ease, and out of his depth.

Evan felt sorry for him. He didn't really seem like he was that interested in all that Jo-Anne was putting on offer. Evan smirked a little; she could empathize. She didn't really want any of what Jo-Anne had to offer, either, at least not sexually; she found herself hoping that Jo would reel him in, though, and take that attention away from herself. Imagine if Jo-Anne actually fell in love or something.

So maybe she didn't feel all that sorry for him after all, she mused, if she was wishing he'd just fuck Jo-Anne already, give her the attention she was craving so bad, and keep her from trying to get in Evan's pants anymore. It wasn't like Evan had ever wanted it from Jo-Anne, besides those kisses and that flirtation, but now she had something _real_ and _meaningful_ and she wanted to give all her love to Mackenzie.

Fuck, she wanted to give him _everything_ : all her love, all her sex, her every thought, her every happy feeling. She was swamped by her emotions for him. It was as if she were being tugged under and she might never breathe again—but if she was with Mackenzie, she didn't care. Maybe she'd die with him someday. She hoped so; she didn't want to live in a world that didn't have Mackenzie in it. It had been bad enough when she was merely separated from him—but to have him be gone altogether? She wouldn't be able to bear that, she just wouldn't.

"Hey, astronaut," Jo was saying. "Ground control to Evan."

"What?" Evan asked, realizing she hadn't even taken a single bite out of her toasted bagel-and-tuna-fish sandwich. Too preoccupied with her brother, she thought, which was probably a mistake.

"It's Monday," Jo-Anne said, giving her a funny look. "You know, Ev, you've been awfully spacey ever since you started at this school and met Cory's brother. You want him that bad? I bet I could make it happen."

_It's already happened_ , Evan thought; _it's_ still _happening._

She dearly hoped she'd get to be alone with him again soon.

"So what if it's Monday?" Evan asked. She inhaled the scent of her sandwich, and while it was delicious, she couldn't help but think of how Mackenzie smelled better than anything she'd ever encountered.

"P.E. today," Jo-Anne said. "Those of you who are freshman don't start P.E. until the second week. The first week is all about giving you a free period to adjust. You're supposed to spend those periods with your guidance counselor—but hardly anyone ever does." She leaned closer. "I'm gonna show Cory the ropes. Let me know if you want me to show you the best places to go during your free period."

And just like that, Evan knew what she wanted to write in her note to Mackenzie. She _had_ to find out if he had a free period the same time as she did, and if they could find a way to be alone.

Imagine! She might be only a short time away from getting her hands on him again. She couldn't even decide what she wanted to grope first: his ass or his cock. Or maybe she just wanted to taste his lips.

That might even be better than her lunch. Evan wrapped up the rest of her bagel. She would eat it later, maybe. Maybe she'd be hungry after she saw Mackenzie.

Because fucking made her hungry, and she fully intended to fuck him again as soon as she could.

:::

Mackenzie didn't see Cory much at school, because he was in a higher grade level since he was already sixteen. But he did catch sight of him once, in the halls during the change of classes, with that blonde clamped onto his arm and her red mouth very, very close to his ear.

Cory looked miserable, but Mackenzie didn't think that Evan's friend really noticed that. He was in a rush himself, head ducking to avoid eye contact with upperclassmen, when he saw them slip out of the crush of students and into a room that, when he was swept past it with the horde, was marked "utility closet."

Mackenzie felt the slightest burgeoning of sympathy for his stepbrother when his twin sister brushed against him and Mackenzie forgot all about Cory. It wasn't just as if he didn't matter. It was as if he didn't exist.

He didn't see Evan before she sped by him. But he knew it was her because his entire body went on high alert, like an alarm bell had been rung in his brain—only it was a _good_ alarm, making him aware of her presence.

It was mid-afternoon, the sun just beginning to sink, dusting the trees with red and gold, and Mackenzie looked down at the sweat-damp piece of paper he was clutching in his hand. He'd thought he'd be prepared for high school because he'd just graduated junior high, but the school was bigger—two floors, even—and the classes were scattered with no rhyme or reason, making Mackenzie grateful he ran sprints in baseball practice.

His schedule said, _free period_ , and he remembered that he was supposed to visit the guidance counselor—Evan's note at lunch had said as much—but now that he was near her, he had to get closer.

Her note had also alluded to the fact that he could skip the counseling session and meet her somewhere, so he pushed against the flow of the crowd, turned around, and followed her; even though he could only catch glimpses of her black curly hair, it was like she was a fisherman and he was the fish baited by her hook. He didn't need to be that close to her to be drawn along behind her.

It was instinctive, because she was his twin and he could sense her emotions: excitement, a touch of apprehension, lust. She wasn't just teasing him along; she was seducing him with everything she had.

If only Evan knew he didn't need to be seduced. He'd fallen for her long ago. In fact, his therapy appointment with Dr. Forbes was coming up, and he was going to miss not only a baseball practice in order to keep it, but the last period of school—a class he shared with Evan! It wasn't fair, and worse, he wanted to blurt out everything good that had happened to him—but there was no way he could.

Trailing Evan up some stairs, he caught up to her just as she wedged open a rusted metal door and went out onto the roof. She turned in a swirl of her pleated skirt and a flying banner of her black curls and gave him a sultry smile.

He didn't even care about all that. He could barely hold himself in check as he flew into her arms. He didn't want to squish her, but at the same time he wanted to crush her against him until it felt like he lived inside her chest again, his heart for hers.

"Jo-Anne told me about this. The lock on the roof door is rusted through and it's a pretty popular make-out spot. She promised she'd make sure other kids knew someone was using it, though."

"She knows about us?" Mackenzie felt a burst of panic. "She—Evan, please tell me you didn't tell her who you were meeting up here."

"It's okay. She doesn't know I took _you_ up here. She suspects I have a thing for you but she also knows me to be a girl with rather less discerning taste. Jo-Anne will not only expect me to come up here with a slew of different guys, she'll probably expect me to come up here with her, too."

"I don't want you up here with anyone but me," Mackenzie said fiercely, and kissed her. When they parted for breath, Evan's eyes were stormy blue-green and her hair was whipping in the wind, so soft against his face.

"I don't wanna be up here with anyone but you," she replied, and kissed him in turn. This kiss became dirty fast and soon, Evan's hand was sliding down his chest, over his shirt, and then untucking it from his pants. He didn't have to worry about weird boners anymore; he only seemed to get it up for her, now. She slipped her hand beneath, warm against his skin, then dipped it into his pants and cupped him. Mackenzie moaned and rutted against her hand without conscious thought, her kiss keeping his head swimming almost as much as her hand on his cock did.

He couldn't get enough of her; his hands wandered and he discovered that her button-down shirt was halfway unbuttoned from the throat down, and when he went to touch her under her skirt, he realized she'd rolled it up to make it much, much shorter—and to give him greater access to the prize underneath. She didn't have to tell him this for him to know; it was all there, in her kiss, her breath, the vitality that flowed through her and into him.

She done it for him, of course she had. From now on she would do everything for him, and Mackenzie reveled in that knowledge.

:::

Evan tingled everywhere, from the soles of her feet to her nipples to her lips. Her hands felt electrified wherever she felt Mackenzie's warm skin, and she kissed him like she needed it to live, like if she stopped kissing him she'd die, right then and there.

The outside world ceased to matter. The cool, crisp air of September became merely an instrument in soothing some of the insatiable heat that flared between them; the slightly overcast sky was forgotten. It might have been raining; Evan didn't know, couldn't tell. She was too busy devouring his mouth until both of their lips were swollen, and she couldn't tell if the throbbing was in his or her own.

Mackenzie's body was hard against hers, and all Evan wanted to do was flip up her skirt, shove her panties to the side, and take him inside of her. She didn't need any prep—she'd been wet and practically dripping with it since she'd sensed him following her up to the roof.

Evan had plenty of experience by now, but none of compared to the exhilaration of being with Mackenzie. She kissed him, she worked her fingers furiously over his dick like he was a fine instrument that she'd spent her life learning to play. He moaned into her mouth and Evan moaned back, and they sounded _exactly the same_.

Suddenly his fingers were in her hair, working into the curls and scratching gently against her scalp in a way that made her body tighten—the sensations were so overwhelming, Evan thought she could come just from kissing and a little heavy petting. Mackenzie's hand was under her skirt, but he was still just lightly stroking her from over the silk of her panties. Evan wanted him inside her; his fingers, his cock, his tongue—at the moment she didn't care.

Evan could feel how hot he was in her hand, how hard and faintly curved as she ran her fingernails lightly up and down his length. There wasn't enough room in his pants to do all that she wanted to do, so with regret coursing through her, she ended the kiss.

Mackenzie was flushed and looked as if he'd been picked up by a tornado, tossed hundreds of miles, and set down. His hair was a mussed mess of glittering blond strands; his face was astounded; his cock was a larger-than-life presence in his jeans.

"Shh," Evan said, when he opened his mouth, but he didn't speak, just let out a long breath. "Let me take care of you, okay, brother?"

There was something about knowing he was her brother that was beginning to do the opposite of what it should: instead of freaking her the fuck out, it was beginning to turn her on. Even more than she'd ever been turned on by anything.

Evan unbuttoned his fly and yanked the zipper down. She could feel a cool breeze against her legs, her ass; her thong didn't cover much. It breathed against the unbearable heat of her pussy, and she wanted his hand back, but he seemed stunned, overwhelmed, so she just set to going down on her knees and tugging his cock out of his underwear.

It was funny, Evan mused, that she dressed to kill with little to no underwear—she still wasn't wearing a bra, and her nipples, exquisitely sensitive, felt every catch in the weave of the cotton of her blouse—but Mackenzie wore jeans that fit, not too tight; he wore underwear; his shirt was nice. Classy.

Evan wanted to be the hussy everyone thought she was—except to Mackenzie.

She wondered if his cock was this big two nights ago, or if she was just so hungry for it that it seemed that way. She danced her fingers along his shaft, relishing his intake of breath, the trembling of his thigh where she was touching him with her other hand. She opened her mouth, and flicked her tongue out against the satiny hardness of his flesh.

"Evan, wait," Mackenzie said, and she stopped, looked up at him.

What could be wrong? Was he suddenly having second thoughts?

"Mac? Am I—did I do something wrong?"

"No," he said, and then he was on his knees in front of her. "You could never do anything wrong. But I don't wanna just _take_ from you. I want us to share."

Like everything they'd ever shared in their life, she thought, as she caressed his beautiful, earnest face. He was heart-achingly lovely and she never wanted anything else.

"I want to die looking at your face," she whispered, and his eyes turned soft; his hands were in her hair again. He kissed her nose, her cheeks, her eyelids when she closed them. He licked the lush curve of her bottom lip, then nibbled on it a little. Evan sighed. She'd never felt so perfectly lovely in any moment in her life, so at ease with everything.

He kissed her gently, then shaped the back of her skull with his hand.

"I could die just from looking at yours," he replied, his voice like a breath of wind. It fluttered her insides. It tiptoed down into her soul and lodged there. "Together," Mackenzie whispered. "I won't allow myself to die anywhere but at your side."

"Then fuck me. Please." Evan quivered. He was going to say no—her heart told her that he wanted to, it even suggested that he was amenable to the suggestion right now. But her fevered brain, filled with nothing but love and… yes, worry… cast itself against rocks of self-doubt. He would tell her no, because he wanted to wait.

"My Evan," he murmured. "Lie back." And he helped her, his hand still firm but gentle at the back of her head, until she was staring up at the sky, directly into a blue patch where some of the clouds had burned away.

He lifted her skirt. She waited for him to make some lewd remark, some typical-boy commentary on her choice of underthings, but he didn't. He just ghosted his fingertips over her thighs, and she shivered. Anticipation? Anxiety? She didn't know. Of course Evan knew Mackenzie loved her. And of course she didn't expect him to judge her—not now.

But a part of her was still shaking within, the knowledge of all those other boys, that abortion, the drugs—making her wait with pins and needles in her fingers and toes and a rushing in her ears.

Would he repudiate her after all?

"W-wait," Evan said, and his hazel eyes bored into hers like he was trying to the depths of her very essence. "Not because of that, Mac. I just wanted to tell you… I'm clean. I did a lot of fucking stupid shit but I got tested when I had the a-abortion, and I was pretty fucking lucky. I just thought you should know that."

"Good," said Mackenzie, "because I don't have any condoms and even if I did, I'd never want to use one with you. I wanna feel you, Evan—everything. Without something separating us. With no barriers between us. Ever."

Evan thought about that, and how it could result in a baby. Maybe other people would find it alarming, but it just made a warm glow sit low in Evan's belly.

She'd have _that_ baby, if she made it with Mackenzie. She wanted every last part of him she could grab hold of.

:::

Mackenzie was not thinking about babies. His mind was too clouded for that: he felt like it was the sky, overcast, reason hidden like the sun. It didn't matter and he didn't care: those clouds were Evan, blanketing him with a sort of warm, cottony softness.

He could feel his resolve unraveling as she laid there, her skirt rucked up, her nipples obvious little points against her blouse. He covered her with his body, careful not to crush her, and licked at a nipple through her shirt. She moaned and tossed somewhat restlessly on the ground.

He had to give her what she wanted, and if he were honest with himself, it wasn't just because _she_ wanted it, but because he was desperate to feel her from the inside out—there was a part of him that felt like being inside her physically would let him climb inside her heart and live there.

That was a stupid thought. He knew he already lived inside her heart, but his cloudy mind didn't care about reason or purpose. It only cared about her.

Mackenzie's cock was still exposed, and he moved her panties to the side, sucking in a breath at the sight of her. God, she was so much more beautiful in daylight, and after the way moonlight had kissed her, he hadn't thought that was possible. Her pussy glistened with dampness—as he stared at her, rapt, a fat droplet of moisture rolled down the inside of her lips. He longed to lick it up, but no, not this time, this time was for being able to put his cock inside her in that dance of love from time immemorial.

"Mac?" Evan asked, her voice quavering with what he suspected was banked emotion, with what his senses as her twin were telling him was lust. "Are you going to—"

"Shh," he said, unconsciously echoing her from earlier. "Yes. Just… give me a moment."

He touched her with his fingers first. He smeared the juices around and understood that she was definitely ready for him; his fingers dripping, he coated his cock in her slick, and then gripped the base, lining up with what seemed to be such a tiny opening.

But as soon as the flared head breached her, she sighed, a long drawn-out breath of an almost-moan, and he felt her body stretch around him. He moaned himself, pausing with just the crown resting inside her. He could barely breathe for the way it— _she_ —made him feel.

When he couldn't wait a second longer, he drove himself inside her, doing the unthinkable and impossible and making her _his_ —his sister, of all people; his twin. Now she was literally the sheath to his sword, the rose to his thorn, his other half—and they fit together like they matched.

As Mackenzie began to thrust, he reflected on the fact that they already matched perfectly. This was just one more way to be close, to be together; something _theirs_. He fitted himself inside her like a key to its lock, and as he filled her up and rocked his hips, as she raised hers to meet him—a sharp breath exiting her lungs each time he went deep—he thought of Dr. Forbes, and how she'd planted this idea in his head.

He forgot all about her warning, though, the cautionary tale now nothing but a footnote in the story of his life, a bit of small print he could no longer read because of the sweat dripping into his eyes as he fucked Evan.

He looked down into her eyes and the patterns in hers mirrored his, he knew. Two peas of a pod their whole lives and now, just look at them: reunited, reignited, ruined for anyone else—Mackenzie knew that there would never be anyone else for him, ever.

"Mac," Evan panted, her fingers trailing up and down his chest, under his shirt. Her breath was short, her pleased noises almost pointed with sharpness. "Mac."

He began to realize that she had been saying his name for awhile, first partly under her breath, too soft to hear; but as he pounded her pussy with an almost religious reverence, he understood that she said it every time he bottomed out inside her. Slamming in again, the inches of his cock disappearing into sweet, tight, earthshaking heat, he mumbled her name:

"Evan!"

:::

Evan was lost to everything. The world had ended; it had been a beautiful collapse, the stars falling, the sky wet, the oceans dried as she felt Mackenzie penetrate her again and again. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess; she was repeating one word over and over and even her own fevered brain wasn't aware of what she was saying.

But when Mac said her name in that husky, soft rumble, she came back to herself a bit, feeling sweat dampen her shirt, and what felt like hot rain on her face.

Mackenzie was crying.

Oh, God! But she knew he loved her; she was no longer afraid of being rejected or pushed away. He clasped his hands around her hips and pulled her pelvis up, it shifted the angle and Evan moaned, gasping and crying out and she finally recognized what she was saying: _Mac, Mac, Mac_.

And like a flash, she understood why he was crying. It matched the feeling in her heart, and explosion of joy so acute it _hurt_ , and there were matching tears rolling down her cheeks, too, into her ears.

She couldn't describe what she was feeling. All of those other boys were washed away, as if taking Mackenzie inside of her had cleansed them from her body and mind. His cock felt dramatic, as if she were pulling the sky down and into her, one blue inch of atmosphere at a time.

And his eyes were open, she realized as she opened hers. He was staring at her like he'd never seen anything like her, some puzzle he hadn't ever been taught but instinctively knew how to solve. And Evan scratched her nails gently over his nipples, feeling him shudder, hearing his breath hitch; he fucked her so _good_ , deep lengthy strokes that made her mind white out into nothingness.

She clenched down around him, and his eyes went wide, stunned and—oh!—he was coming, hard and hot and spasming within her. 

Mackenzie wasn't moving anymore, wasn't pushing his dick into her with such shocking pleasure anymore; Evan had never felt so good before. No, it had _never_ felt this good, and she squeezed her thighs against Mac's hips, holding him within her as she reached—and reached—

"Mac!" she said, and he stared at her in blank incomprehension for a moment. "Mac, I need to come! Let me come!"

"Evan, oh—" he was so contrite; she could read it in his eyes. He tucked his hand in between them, in between her labia, and found her little spot, and when he rolled it gently, it was like the sweetest pleasure she'd ever felt—but so sharp! Mackenzie rubbed it faster, and he met her eyes, and asked, "Is that good? I didn't do it right, did I?"

"Just keep—yes—like _that_ ," Evan said, as the pleasure spiked. She was soaring, part of the clouds, a bird in the sky—she was never coming down—and the wave crashed over her like being tugged underwater by the undertow, and she came so hard, her eyes slammed shut and her vision blackened.

Mackenzie slipped his finger down, away from her body where it was throbbing and contracting. He knew somehow just when to stop putting pressure on it. He framed her face with his hands, and one of them was damp with her perspiration and her juices, but Evan didn't care if he smeared it all over her face.

"Good now?" he asked, and Evan couldn't remember any words. She just nodded—then she gasped as Mackenzie ran his hand up her body, slid it into her shirt and cupped her breast. He bowed his head and kissed her lips with a heaviness she couldn't explain. It wasn't a physical sensation; it was an _emotional_ weight and Evan reveled in it. She kissed him back.

He played with her nipple and pulled slowly free of her body; it was loathe to let him go, and she felt various fluids drip out of her and onto the roof, and the sun was shining like a spotlight down on top of them, and for the first time Evan felt something like regret.

Not because she'd fucked her twin brother. She'd never feel bad about that. No, it was because they hadn't been that careful. So lost in each other, in what they were doing, that they hadn't been aware of their surroundings anymore; they could've been caught.

No one knew of their familial connection, she knew that was still the case, but it wouldn't look that good if they were punished for participating in sexual activity with wild abandon while on school property.

"Ev," Mackenzie said, caressing her face; he wound some of her curls around his fingers, and Evan didn't know if his hand was clean—and she didn't fucking care, either! Let him get their coitus all over each other—let his come stain her mouth the way it stained her lips. Let his kiss be a brand that she would never get out from under; a scar that she would wear proudly until she died and no one the wiser for it.

"I love you so much!" Evan threw her arms around him, and he cuddled her back, lifting her from where she'd lain on the roof. He smoothed her hair, combing it with his fingers till it ran like a river down her back.

"Do you see the sun?" Mackenzie asked, and Evan remembered he played baseball; he would have some idea what time it was just from the afternoon sunlight. "We're playing hooky from class, I think. I'm pretty sure our free period is over."

"I want to just stay here, forever, like this, with you," Evan said, no matter how inevitable it was that their shared moments had to end.

"But I will always be with you," Mackenzie said, kissing her quickly, then unable to help himself, lingering at his pleasure. "I'm part of you, and you're part of me. Our hearts don't beat in sync—they beat _for_ each other."

"You're such a poet," Evan said, and she closed her eyes. "If we're already late, why can't we just skip? And leave school?"

"I want to," Mackenzie said.

:::

"But we can't," Mackenzie added, watching the way the flush had turned creamy peach skin to pink, from her cheeks to her chest. "My stepmother would murder me." Not to mention he'd get after-school detention—and he might already get one, depending on the rules for the second day of school and how late they were going to be—and miss yet _another_ baseball practice. It was bad enough he was missing one for that stupid doctor.

Damn shrink. She had no idea what she was talking about: Mackenzie was happier now, satiated with his sister's juices running down his length, than he had ever been before in his life.

"C'mon, Ev, we have to clean ourselves up," Mackenzie said, fumbling with the buttons on her blouse, his fingers trembling with the extant power of his orgasm.

"You don't need to button that," Evan said, grabbing his hands and holding them in hers; just like that, he wanted her again. His body needed a few minutes of a refractory period, but his mind couldn't come to terms with the fact that it was already _over_. He wasn't ready to walk away from her yet—he never would be—how could he?

"But you look like… like…"

"Freshly fucked?" Evan laughed a little, and the sheer joy that burst within Mackenzie's chest at hearing her laugh again after so long made it even more difficult to imagine leaving school and going home to different places. "It wouldn't be the first time. People only see what they want to see, Mac, and even if the teachers thought that was what I'd been doing, they wouldn't say anything. They can't prove anything."

"And what about Jo-Anne?" Mackenzie asked, abandoning the buttons. "Won't she guess?"

"You're right." Evan gave him a mischievous smirk. "You go back to class, Mac. I think I'm gonna go to the park and hang out."

"By yourself?" He wasn't sure if he was worried, or just didn't want to go back to class alone. He wanted her with him—always. Why had their parents done this? In his deepest ruminations, he would have said that this—this enormous transgression, this act of making love to his sister—would probably not have happened if their parents hadn't made them so desperate for the tiniest piece of each other.

Now he had almost all of her he could want; he was drunk on her. His senses were reeling with the over-saturation of sensations she elicited. The only thing left, the last piece withheld from him, was going home with her, curling up around her in bed, sleeping by her side all night and waking up to her precious face. To her otherworldly kisses. No matter how many times he had kissed Cory, it could never compare to this.

"I'll be fine, Mac. It's daylight!" She shifted away from him, just slightly, and it was a physical wrench—like a sudden swooping pain that he couldn't pinpoint nor identify.

"Wait—" Mackenzie reached for her, and she evaded his hands but slipped back into the circle of his arms and began to tuck him away, zipping and buttoning until he was nearly decent again. She left his shirt untucked. A breeze blew cool air over them, smelling of autumn leaves and fluttering his shirt against his nipples, which were still too sensitive from her hands on him. "Don't go yet," he added, and buried his face against her neck.

She smelled sultry, like summertime heat and sex, with the faintest tinge of crisp autumn air from being outside for forty minutes or so. He inhaled, holding the breath in his lungs as long as he could, trying to save her scent for later.

To be able to conjure it back up tonight, when he needed her, when he couldn't be with her. God, oh holy fucking God, he loved her _so much_.

"Let's just run away," Evan whispered against his ear. "Let's fucking blow this town, and go somewhere where we can be together forever."

"We're too young," Mackenzie said with a sudden crashing despair. How—? How could he walk back down those stairs, back to the school, back to class—to real life? "Am I dreaming, Evan? Have I touched you here; kissed your lips? Have I truly been a part of you, however brief?"

"It's not so that you're not," Evan soothed, "you're still a part of me. No other couple can possibly hold a candle to this love, Mac; we have the same fucking _blood_ , and it runs fucking _thick_. Nothing could keep you from me forever."

"I know," he said, and wrapped her in an embrace so tight he thought his chest would crack open, spilling his heart into her lap, there for her to pick up, to hold, to keep.

"You're right, though, Mac. We have to rejoin the real world." She kissed the spot below his ear, behind the lobe, and then licked it, a kitten-flick of her tongue. He pulled back from her, and it physically _hurt_. "But someday… someday, Mac, we'll be eighteen. Three years. In three years, we can run away. And go somewhere safe."

Letting her go, standing up, turning around—it was the worst pain he'd ever felt, and that even included nearly three years ago—he'd stopped keeping count as soon as she was in his arms again.

Mackenzie tilted his head back to the sky, letting the breeze blow away her scent and the sun burn away her touch. As soon as he couldn't feel her physically imprinted on his skin anymore, he yanked open the rust roof door with a screech and began descending the steps.

But in his heart, she beat and throbbed and unfurled a beautiful flower that only her physical presence could nurture.

:::

As soon as Mackenzie was out of her sight, Evan sighed, lying back on the roof. She raised her hips, briefly, wondering what would happen if his seed took root inside of her. She'd never let George schedule the abortion then. She'd take pride—sick, perverse pride—in gestating that baby, in bearing it, birthing it, and letting Laurel and George raise it.

But as soon as she was old enough—that baby would be hers again. She would pack them up, find Mackenzie, and no one who knew them would ever see them again.

Evan hadn't told Mackenzie the rest of her plan. She hadn't mentioned that, when they ran away, she wanted them to go far—as far as they could, maybe even another country, and she wanted—God, how she wanted—them to be married. She'd give up everything in her life just to be her brother's wife.

She laughed a little at herself. He was the poet, but a little while in his company and she was rhyming in her head. It was like old times. Evan reached under her skirt and readjusted her thong. She hoped that jizz wouldn't drip down her thighs when she stood up; she'd never worn panties this tiny after fucking someone before.

"I'm gonna have to stop at the convenience store," she murmured to herself, lost in thoughts of Mackenzie. "No matter that it seems cool, we ought to buy condoms. No sense in getting pregnant too soon. But someday," she glanced down and rounded her hand over her flat belly, "someday, Mac and I will be married, and then…" She was afraid to say the words out loud. Afraid she'd jinx it.

She rolled onto her side, snagged the strap of her backpack, and tugged it over to her. She found her pocket watch: 2:15pm. Class had definitely started. No sense in going back there; she was gonna have to be quick and sneaky to leave the school undetected. She wondered if it was possible to get a note to Jo-Anne about where to meet her so that they could stop at the 7-11 on the way home.

Or maybe… oh, it was too good, thought Evan gleefully; she could ask George for condoms and she knew he'd provide them, without any questions—maybe without even a lecture—because he'd be so pleased she was being proactive. And all the while she'd know what they were really for: having as much sex with Mac as possible.

Evan stood up. She unrolled her skirt; she smoothed her hair, feeling the curls spring back into shape. She buttoned up her shirt so only the top button was undone instead of the top three.

Then she followed Mackenzie's footsteps to where he'd left the roof door open.

_I wonder when baseball practice is,_ Evan thought as she crept down the stairs as quietly but swiftly as possible. _I could watch Mac practice. I could be close to him again!_

:::

Algebra might have been interesting, Mackenzie concluded, if not for the fact that the only equations he wanted to solve now were how to get two to equal one, because he had tasted his sister—and been inside her pussy—and now he wanted to be with her, _in_ her, for the rest of his life.

Even if that wasn't logically feasible. Distantly, as Mr. Boudoin droned on and on, Mackenzie thought about what it would be like to kiss her again. Would it be different? Would sliding his dick into her passage again be as magical the second time? As earth-shattering?

But it had to be, right? It couldn't subside to mundanity—that was impossible. Every place their skin met would be like receiving an electric shock. Every time their lips touched, it would be like a rare thing, a complete solar eclipse or a comet shooting through the night sky.

No, Mackenzie understood—again from locker room babble—that he'd chafe if he just stayed inside her for as long as he wanted. Even during their free period he'd started to get tingly and extra sensitive, almost ticklish, for the time that he was inside her while he was trying to make her come.

And that was another thing: he had to learn to be a better lover. He couldn't just finish in two minutes and leave poor Evan hanging like he'd done this afternoon. He had to learn to get her off easier, and quick. He imagined what it would be like if they came together, the same moment, like sometimes happened in movies he'd sneaked watching when Dad or Shirley weren't home.

Speaking of, he had been lucky, and he wouldn't get a lecture from Shirley when she came to pick him up after baseball practice, because he'd squeaked into his eighth period class just in time. He'd missed the syllabus, because even though the bell hadn't rung, the warning bell had and the booklets had been laid out on everyone's desks already.

Everyone else had gotten there early because it was the second day, when things started to really matter. But Mackenzie didn't mind. He knew he could make a photocopy of the syllabus after school in the office.

He just hoped he didn't smell like sweat and sex; thankfully, he would shower after practice, so he wouldn't smell rank, like _boy put through a sweat and jizz blender_ when he got home.

He tried to focus on the teacher, and the math he was trying to explain, but whether it was because Mackenzie's mind was still overflowing with thoughts of Evan—and _sex_ with Evan—or because Mr. Boudoin taught too quickly, he couldn't keep up.

So he began to write little verses in his looseleaf notebook, all of them alluding to his twin sister: her beauty; the poetry of her form; the symphony of her sex; the kiss of her fingers. He wrote about how her eyes sparkled in the sun; he waxed poetic on how her skin glowed like the moon.

And before he knew it, algebra class was over, and it was time to go and change for practice. He stuffed his book and notebook in his backpack, then slung it over one shoulder and darted out of the room, hoping to avoid catching the teacher's eye in case he'd noticed Mackenzie was goofing off, albeit quietly.

It occurred to him that if he didn't pay closer attention, he might fail algebra. It also occurred to him that he didn't care.

He didn't really care about anything anymore, beyond Evan and her soft, sometimes-cool fingers, or the approval he'd seen in her eyes when he'd entered her, or the encouragement and approval when he'd rubbed at her sweet spot and gotten her off.

Now Mackenzie knew both the taste _and_ the inside of his twin sister's pussy, and he was like an addict for it already: he needed another hit, and just one more would never be enough; he needed her for the rest of his days.

The boys on the baseball team chattered and laughed, and punched each other in the arm and nudged each other off-balance in the showers, and made off-color jokes. Mackenzie sat quietly to the side and changed into his uniform, tied his cleats, and picked up his glove.

One of the guys was proselytizing: "And her thighs, oh my God, so creamy and smooth. You ought to try it. I heard she gives it out to anyone."

Another one of the guys, Owen Schofield, whacked Mackenzie affectionately on the shoulder and said,

"How's third base? Bet you don't know! Ha-ha-ha!"

Mackenzie gave him a wary smile; his position was third this semester. Previously he'd only played second, but the team's third baseman had graduated and Mackenzie had been chosen for third when he made the team. He'd known Owen since last year, and the kid was archaic in his tastes: he liked Abbott and Costello, and he'd once dragged Mackenzie over to a corner of the locker room and played "Who's on First?" for him on his MP3 player.

Which meant now he thought he was funny every time he brought it up. Mackenzie used to laugh at the repeated jokes, too, but now he was preoccupied as he set down his glove and re-laced up his right cleat because it wasn't secure enough.

"Hey, what's the matter, man?" asked Owen, but Mackenzie glanced up from his sneaker, somewhat startled.

"Nothing," he said, and grinned. "Sorry, I was thinking about… algebra." This, of course, was a lie. Mackenzie was thinking about what he'd been _doing_ during algebra, and thus what he'd been doing with Evan up on the roof.

"Algebra? Seriously? What the fuck, dude. You need better hobbies."

"Better than baseball?" Mackenzie asked, as they all got ready to take the field.

"Find a good girl to fuck," Owen said, and patted his back. "That'll take your mind right off algebra. Honestly." He laughed, but Mackenzie was quiet.

He wanted to be like the rest of the guys, and prose on about Evan, but he knew he couldn't.

Not ever.

:::

"Hey, George?" Evan said when she came in the door after school. She'd ended up bumming a cigarette from some upperclassman and smoking it behind the gym, trying to pick out which tiny figure on the baseball diamond was Mackenzie, as she waited for Jo-Anne to give her a ride home.

George was scrubbing the kitchen counter with a Brillo pad, but he paused and made eye contact. It was all Evan could do not to flush.

"Aren't you a little late?" he asked, regarding her rather stonily. Well, yeah, she had been after school for a few extra minutes, but some mint gum and some hand lotion and at least most of the incriminating cigarette stink should be gone.

"Jo-Anne drives slowly," she said with wide, hopefully guileless eyes. After all, she had something pretty big to _hide_ now. Before, her sexual exploits were something she wanted to taunt George with. Now she had to be much, much more careful.

George peered at the clock; he must have forgotten to put his contacts in.

"I guess that could be the case." He went back to scrubbing. Evan scratched the back of her neck; she could feel something crusty in her hair. Oops. "So what is it?"

"I wanna take the bus this year," she said, although really she had no idea where Mackenzie lived and whether she'd be on the same bus as him anyway. "And I need a box of condoms."

"Fourteen-year-olds do _not_ need condoms," he said without looking up.

"I'm fifteen," Evan corrected, "and do you really wanna keep them from _me_? Be _sides,_ you were the one who originally suggested it."

George sighed and flung the Brillo pad in the sink. "Point taken. Still, don't they give those things out in the school nurse's office?"

"I dunno," Evan said sweetly. "I've only been at this school for two days. But, please? The bus? And a box of Trojans?"

"I'll see what I can do about the bus," George said, "but I'm still uncomfortable with buying you condoms. I'll have to talk to your mother."

Evan was surprised that George hadn't completely folded like a wet paper towel, but she grinned inwardly; Laurel was unlikely to be an obstacle.

As she bounced off to her room, filled with a fantastic euphoria from having fucked her own brother that afternoon, a tiny, dark part of her mind whispered: _but what if your mother found out? About you and Mackenzie?_

Laurel would be appalled, Evan knew that. She'd be disgusted. She'd probably think she'd been right to drag Evan away. But despite all that, Evan knew better.

She and Mac were meant to be. They were like two flowers growing entwined with each other; or the sun and the moon, each fated to complement the other.

So not even thoughts of her mother's revulsion could dampen her spirits.

:::

Mackenzie was whacking off when Cory got home, snuck around the door, and shut himself in Mackenzie's room. Mackenzie immediately reached for a blanket; he was doing this because of Evan, while he was thinking about her—he didn't really want Cory's attention, or Cory's eyes on him.

His dick was reserved for one person only from now on.

"What are you doing, Mac?" Cory asked, as if he didn't have eyes and couldn't see exactly what Mackenzie was doing.

"What does it look like?" Mackenzie glowered at Cory; now that he'd been interrupted, his mental image of Evan had vanished like so much smoke. He wanted to think about her, from the way her eyelashes curled over her eyes, to the soft arches of her feet—Mackenzie knew every inch of his sister, even the parts of her he hadn't been able to touch or caress on the roof. He knew, because he remembered; because they'd grown up together for those first eleven years.

"Yeah, but, why…" Cory trailed off; he looked confused and dismayed. "You won't even do it for me. Why?"

"I'm embarrassed," Mackenzie lied quickly. "I just haven't gotten used to the idea of an audience yet."

Cory dropped onto Mackenzie's bed in a sitting position, his head in his hands, staring at the floor.

"I don't know how to keep up this thing with Jo-Anne," he said. "She wants… she's so damn interested in sex, Mac, and I can't make myself interested in _her_. I'm only interested in you—and boys in general. How can I touch her, or fuck her, when it grosses me out even to smell her? And fuck, Mac, but she's gotten so close I can smell her pussy. It turns my stomach."

"It's that or tell your mom," Mackenzie said, his erection still tenting out the sheet. Thankfully, Cory was still studying the floor as if it held all the answers he sought. "And you know you can't tell your mom."

In some ways, he and Cory were so similar: Mackenzie could never tell _anyone_ who his lover was. He definitely couldn't tell his mom; not that he would, though. He never really wanted to speak to her again.

He pitied Evan having to live with her, and the asshole she said her stepfather was. Their father was never around, but he wasn't a bad guy, just kind of an unobjectionable, unmemorable one. But Laurel was so flaky; she was probably the reason Evan had gotten into trouble.

He thought about Evan's abortion, and how she must have felt, having to go through that. How she must still feel. Hell, he'd experienced some of what she felt when she went through it, even if he didn't understand at the time what it was. Surely that wasn't something you healed all that quickly from.

"My mom… she thinks I'm so special." Cory was speaking, and Mackenzie realized he'd gotten distracted by thoughts of Evan again.

"In a few years you could move away, someplace she doesn't know?" Mackenzie suggested, and it sparked an idea in his own brain. Sure, Evan had already brought it up, and Mackenzie had considered it, but…

But suppose he and Evan did the same thing, went somewhere where no one knew them. No one knew them now, not really. Their classmates and teachers were under an illusion, one that neither Mackenzie nor Evan was going to dispel. But if they went to some state—or even some other country—where they were unknown to be siblings, what then?

What if they could get married? Mackenzie knew that leaving the country would require fake paperwork, but there was nothing he wouldn't do to be close to his sister for the rest of his life. Nothing in the world seemed abhorrent if it meant keeping her with him.

Would Evan want that, too? Would she agree to be his wife, at such time and place that they could hopefully make such a thing happen?

"Tell me the truth, Mackenzie," Cory asked, breaking into his sordid yet hopeful thoughts. It wasn't as if Mackenzie didn't know that they were slightly disturbed to want each other this bad. But maybe for them, it could be normal, even if the outside world would never understand.

"What?" Mackenzie asked, trying to focus on his stepbrother. It was very difficult, though, and that wasn't even entirely the fault of his hard on.

"You like that girl. More than me?"

Shit! How could he answer? He couldn't let on how _much_ he liked Evan. If anyone should ever find out that they were twins… that could end their lives. He would be so lost without her again, and Mackenzie knew it was illegal, what they were doing. He just didn't care.

He knew Evan didn't either.

But it didn't change the fact that the law had firm statutes on sleeping with your siblings. Mackenzie didn't know a lot—but he bet that, if it came down to it, the police or lawyers or whomever could say that Mackenzie had influenced Evan or molested her, simply because he was seventeen minutes older.

"Mac?"

Oh, _fuck._ He was woolgathering again, and Cory was giving him a strange look.

"I just met her," Mackenzie said, scrambling for a reply that would make sense _and_ be believable. "I don't even know her." Oh, what a lie that was! He was born already knowing her: from her secret love of Reese's peanut butter cups to every single last freckle on her body. He could divulge where any one of her beauty marks were, and he knew that from _before_ he fucked her.

_I know my twin sister in the Biblical sense,_ Mackenzie thought with a sort of amazed wonder. _And I don't feel weird about that at all._

"You sure seemed cozy with her at lunch the other day," Cory said, and Mackenzie thought he sounded suspicious. "If you're not gay, Mac, then why did you kiss me?"

Boy, he sure asked the hard questions. Mackenzie didn't really have an answer, but he couldn't admit that he didn't know, right? So he practiced learning to lie. He might need to know how to be a very good one later on.

"I think I might be bisexual," he said, spreading his hands out. He wasn't turned on anymore, thank goodness. "I just wanted to try it. See if I was." _And you were so nice to me,_ Mackenzie added silently. _You kept me company._

But those weren't good reasons to lead him on. And while missing Evan, he'd used Cory like a bandaid over a gaping wound. That hadn't been the answer. It was wrong—but Mackenzie was so in love now!—he could barely bring himself to care.

"If you're bi," Cory began, "then why won't you do anything besides kiss me? Why do you watch me get off, but I never get to watch you get off? Something made you hot today, made you want relief, and you know I would have done it for you. So why not?"

"I'm a virgin," Mackenzie said, lying again. He'd just lost his virginity today, in fact. It was still an amazing sort of revelation. Not only that he was no longer innocent, but that he'd lost it to Evan. He'd never imagined that would be the case, yet he was pleased, overall, with the way things had worked out. His father had told him during The Talk that his first time should be special.

And oh, but it was.

"So am I," Cory retorted. "But I don't wanna stay that way. Do you?"

"Of course not," Mackenzie said, because that was what Cory expected him to say. "But I'm not sure if I'm ready _now_." _At least, not with_ you.

"Did you ever even really give me a chance?" Cory sounded upset. "Did those kisses mean nothing to you? Why did you even kiss me, Mackenzie?"

Mackenzie was frantically searching for a reply when they both heard the back door slam. Only Shirley came in that door after work; Cory sprang up off the bed like he had a gun to his head all of a sudden, and Mackenzie thought that was true. Cory's mother was a figurative gun, always looking for a chance to go off.

If she'd heard their conversation, they both would have been dead from smoking gunshot wounds.

Speaking of wounds, Cory gave Mackenzie a wounded look before scuttling out of his room. Left alone again finally, Mackenzie regarded his lap, the blanket still spread over it. His whack-off session had been truly ruined; Cory used up all the time he'd had.

Now he would have to wait till bedtime to get off. To think about his sister. To wonder what she was doing, or who with. Mackenzie flopped backward against the pillow.

Maybe Shirley would ignore him tonight. Maybe she wouldn't ask about school. Mackenzie would've wanted to avoid the dinner table, but these days he was ravenous by supper time. In fact, he was hungry right now. He covered his belly with his hand.

Just hours earlier, Evan's hand had probably brushed over that part of him. Just the thought of her, though, and his world brightened. Mackenzie rolled over onto his side, staring out the window, where the sun was a glorious pink gold hue as it began to set. He felt his eyes closing. He was almost too hungry to sleep—he'd open them again in a minute.

Mackenzie drifted away into spun-sugar dreams.

:::

Evan was sleepy at dinner, and she didn't know why. Just that she kept wanting to put her head down and fall away into dreams, but she couldn't. She had to focus on the conversation around her and try to keep any vestiges of guilt off her face or out of her tone.

The guilt was rather academic, actually. She didn't truly feel bad, she just knew she _ought_ to, and that was enough to make her cautious. Meredith was there, _again_ , polluting their family time—not that Evan cared much about family time these days (unless it was with Mackenzie), but Meredith was a two-faced double-dealing snitch—and Evan didn't want her around.

"So how was the first real day of school, honey?" Laurel asked, taking a bite of chicken parmesan. Evan stabbed a piece of chicken on her plate and imagined putting the tines of her fork through her mother's eyeball.

Surprisingly, that improved her appetite.

"Algebra's hard," Evan said, dipping her peas in the sauce. Meredith put down her crusty bread on her plate.

"I can help with that," she offered, but Evan was immediately on the defensive.

"Nah, if you have any problems they pair you up with a study partner." Evan had no idea if that was true. But she didn't doubt that Mackenzie would breeze through algebra the way he did in all his classes. He might be a poet—but he was also the academic star. Evan wasn't stupid, but she was a classic example of what her teachers called "a student that didn't apply herself."

And if Evan had trouble with algebra… or if she only said she did… then maybe she could stay after school. Mackenzie didn't even have to tutor her for real. In fact, it was more likely she'd be tutoring _him_ , given what she knew about sex and he didn't. Although maybe he knew more than she realized. After all, he'd easily picked up on how to get her off both times.

Evan smiled into her dinner. She didn't mind at all if she didn't have to teach him anything. She'd just enjoy it.

"Food okay?" George asked, and it took a moment for Evan to realize he was addressing her. "You look happy enough to eat it."

That was when Laurel decided to flip the switch of her "mom instinct." She didn't use it often—she didn't _want_ to—but suddenly her full attention was on Evan, her fork lying in the chicken parmesan on her plate.

"You do look happy. Did she come straight home from school, babe?" Laurel asked George without even looking at him. Her eyes were fixed on Evan, who was trying not to flush or get caught in a lie. She pushed Mackenzie as far out of her mind as she could—which wasn't far, just out of her immediate thoughts. He lingered at the back of her brain, though, like the knowledge of something wonderful about to happen that was still a long way off.

"She said her friend drives slowly, so she was about twenty minutes later than I expected, but she was decently dressed. If she didn't comport herself well at school, I didn't hear anything from the office."

At this Evan did flush. She may have said algebra was hard. It was; she'd studied pre-algebra last year. But today she'd skipped that class. She'd been with Mac for part of it, and then she'd sat behind the bleachers of the football field for awhile, thinking about life. About how much her life had revolved around Mac before, and how much _more_ it did now.

"It's nice to see a smile on your face again," Laurel said, as if she'd already forgotten to grill Evan about whatever it was she was suspicious about. "I wonder what put it there."

Evan imagined grinding her fork against her mother's eye socket. She'd never do such a thing, of course, but it felt good to think about. Evan didn't want to ask herself why.

She didn't think she'd ever been a violent person, so this sudden murderous fantasy worried her—but only for a second. Then Mac's beloved face superimposed itself on her nasty, violent daydream, and she forgot all about cruelty and thought only of love.

"Listen, my darling," George said, speaking to Laurel; she was the only person he referred to as his darling. "Evan has requested that we provide her with condoms. I wanted to refuse, due to her tender age, but I also think it's important she's safe and that she doesn't have any more 'accidents.'"

"Oh, I don't care," Laurel replied. "If she asked, get them for her. I was sexually active at fifteen."

Evan already knew that, but she was disgusted anyway. Who wanted to hear about their parents having sex? She knew that Laurel and Jacob—her father—had been having sex while they were young. She knew that she and Mackenzie were "accidents" too. And Evan was pretty sure that that marriage had failed because neither of them were old enough to have kids, and got married only because Laurel got knocked up.

"Thanks, Mom," she said, though. She might have been harboring ugly thoughts towards her mother, but she proved once again not only why Evan hated her—she was no real mom, just a poser—but why she was useful.

"Are you sure, my darling?" George forked up some peas. "You don't seem very concerned about her behavior."

"She's a teenager, babe. They act out." Laurel swept up the rest of the sauce with her bread. Meredith was watching Evan with a keen look in her eye.

All of a sudden Evan remembered when Meredith had dropped her off at school, and said that thing about DiCaprio. She felt a cold shiver go through her; what did Meredith suspect?

Meredith couldn't know that Mackenzie was her brother, and there was no way that she'd even known who Evan was looking at that morning, but it still freaked Evan out.

"I didn't act out," Meredith said quietly, and George smiled at his daughter. Rotten bitch. She just had to show what a goody two-shoes she was, didn't she?

"I know you didn't. You were a model of generosity and grace. Thankfully." George peered over his glasses at Evan. "You could learn a thing or two from your stepsister."

"Nothing I want to learn," Evan said, and stood up. "I'm going to my room."

"Mm, I'm getting a headache," Laurel said, pressing her fingers to her temples. "Might be a migraine. It's that time of the month, so it's probably gonna be a bad one."

Evan hadn't managed to leave the dining room yet. Laurel rubbed her temples, then said,

"Evan, baby, if I'm not feeling well tomorrow you know I'll need some help."

George cleared his throat. "Laurel, do you want a pill? Evan really should be in school." He began clearing the plates from the table. As he carried them to the kitchen, he said, over his shoulder, "but if your mom really does have a bad migraine tomorrow, no skipping out on her."

Evan shuddered, hugging herself. She wouldn't get to see Mackenzie that way!

"You're acting like a baby," Evan said, squinching up her nose. "It's a fucking headache. Take the medicine and learn to deal."

"You wouldn't be saying that if it was _your_ headache," Laurel said, but she didn't admonish Evan any more than that.

"Evan, you're a young lady. You should use more ladylike language." George came back into the room with a dish cloth and began wiping down the table. "And for heaven's sake, dish duty and taking out the trash is your turn tonight."

"When does Meredith get a turn?" Evan said, even as she began walking towards the kitchen. "She's here so much, she ought to help out."

"Meredith _is_ helping," George replied patiently. "She drove you to school on your first day, didn't she?"

Laurel got to her feet, one hand still on her head. "I'm going to lie down. Please leave some water by the bed when you come to sleep, babe." And she left the room.

Evan turned the tap on and began running the water so it would warm up. There were a lot of battles she fought, and she knew that if she didn't do some of her chores, Laurel would just do them, but that wouldn't happen tonight if she had a headache. She was already grounded and wanted George to give her money for condoms—or buy them for her—which meant that she better try to act well-behaved. For now.

"You need to call the school tomorrow," Evan said over the sound of running water. "Sign me up to take the bus."

"We'll see," George said.

"And give me money for condoms if you're not going to buy them," Evan added, even though she knew she was pushing her luck.

"I have some in the master bathroom," George said. "You can have a couple of those for now. And you get an allowance, Evan. Stop asking me for more money. You need to learn to manage yours better." He was definitely running out of patience. It had taken Evan years, but she was wearing the dick down. He was gonna lose it sooner or later.

But now, she realized with a shot of alarm, she didn't really want him to. If he did, he might kick them out or divorce Laurel. And then Laurel would probably yank up the roots she'd finally put down and move someplace new.

Evan would lose Mackenzie _again_. She couldn't let that happen. As soon as she saw him again, they were going to have to devise a way to find each other if they ever got separated again.

She scrubbed out the inside of a pan, all the while thinking. Someplace to meet, some kind of code—these were the things she considered as she washed the dishes and placed them in the dishwasher. She'd have to change at least part of her name—she couldn't be _Raleigh Banks_ anymore; that was George's name.

George went out, ostensibly to buy toilet paper because they were running low, and Evan dried her hands on a dishtowel. The more she plotted and planned, the more she understood that they would need money—and George was fucking loaded. He wasn't careless with it, but still she might find some in the master bedroom; Laurel often put her money on the nightstand and her jewelry on the bureau in a little scalloped dish. It was Evan's responsibility to put it all away at the end of the week.

Evan waited for Meredith to retreat to her old room, where she'd been staying, and then she crept into the master bedroom. She carried a glass of water, an excuse to be there, but she didn't think she'd get caught. If Laurel had one of her headaches, she'd be dead to the world.

Once in the darkened room, Evan perched the water glass on the nightstand in her mother's reach, and then felt around the surface of it till she found a roll of bills. It wasn't huge—and she couldn't see the denominations—but it ought to be a decent start. Too bad George was right and she'd always squandered her allowance; no more of that, though.

Finding the jewelry dish was easier; she clicked on the master bathroom light and left the door open a crack till it shone over the bureau. Evan stuffed the money in the waistband of her skirt and picked through the jewelry until she found a pair of diamond studs. They were huge—maybe three carats apiece—and Evan knew they were also generic enough that it might take her mother awhile to miss them.

Satisfied with her loot, Evan shut off the bathroom light and walked lightly, on the balls of her feet, down the hall. Once she was in her own bedroom, she found the Fire Safe lockbox that George had given her for important papers like her birth certificate. She unlocked it with the only key—the other she kept stored inside the box—and hid the earrings, before counting the money, which amounted to about fifty-three dollars. There were three tens and a twenty plus some singles.

Evan shut the box and locked it. Her mother was so flitter-brained that she might forget entirely that she'd had money there, and was unlikely to realize her earrings had been stolen and not simply misplaced. Even if Laurel couldn't find them, she'd most likely assume it was her own fault they were lost.

Shoving the box under her bed, Evan changed into a sheer nightie and turned down her bed. She brushed her hair in front of the mirror and found a spot that was stiff; likely either her brother's jizz or her own juices. She ought to take a shower before bed. But the sleepiness from dinner was lingering, so Evan promised herself a half hour of drawing propped up by her pillows, then sleep.

She climbed into bed, arranged her lap desk, papers, and pencil, and set out to start drawing. Within minutes her eyelids were so heavy they felt weighted by bricks.

The lap desk and papers fell, sprawling on the floor, as Evan drifted away onto the backs of dragon-dreams, unaware of everything except the strange yet comforting double-beat of her heart.

:::

Mackenzie's heart felt like it was beating with an echo—he attributed it to Evan, her sweet heart beating in time with his own, her love filling him with an unimaginable warmth.

He'd slept through dinner. In fact, it was eleven at night now, and the house was grave-silent. He'd expected Cory to sneak into his room before he went to bed, but there was no evidence anywhere that Cory had been in his room while he napped. And it appeared that Cory had gone to bed alone, without trying to wake Mackenzie.

Well, he was hungry. He ought to at least snag something from the kitchen before he went to bed officially. Mackenzie pushed open his door as silently as he could, then padded down to the kitchen. Shirley had a rule: no food in the bedrooms, but Mackenzie was confident that he could eat in the private space of his room—his sneaking of food hidden—and then return the things to the kitchen with no one the wiser.

He ought to have known better. When he got close to the kitchen, he could see a light gleaming from under the crack in the door. Shrugging, Mackenzie opened the door—as expected once he'd perceived the light, Mackenzie's father was at the small kitchenette, nursing a mug of what could be tea, coffee, or either one of those things spiked with brandy.

"Hi, Dad," he said diffidently, making his father aware of his presence even though he didn't feel like a conversation. Strange, that his father wasn't asleep tonight. Shirley wasn't on call, and he was going into work early in the morning. Sometimes Mackenzie wondered about their marriage—when he wasn't missing Evan. Were they even happy? They were rarely together, and they seemed to spend much of their time apart even when they were in the same house at the same time.

"Oh, Mac. You missed dinner. Shirley made pork cutlets with asparagus spears." His father drank some of whatever was in the mug. "She's a good cook. I don't know why you never eat."

"I didn't mean to fall asleep," Mackenzie admitted sheepishly. "I thought I'd grab a snack before going back to bed."

"Heat up dinner," his father said. "We made you a plate regardless." He stared down into the depths of his mug, apparently lost in thought again, and Mackenzie went and opened the fridge.

Sure enough, a plate awaited him on the leftovers' shelf. He went about the process of getting it ready, then placed it in the microwave, punched the buttons, and went to sit down across from his father.

He was so lost in his own thoughts, Mackenzie felt his mind drift, too. Right now, he wondered what Evan was doing. Was she thinking of him? Was she asleep?

His father's gold Rolex winked in the kitchen light as he moved his mug, his wrist turning as he did so. All of a sudden Mackenzie realized they needed a plan, he and Evan. They might have to make a run for it someday.

After all, what was the likelihood that they'd be so lucky as to never be discovered? Cory was already suspicious. There were so many ways that they could be found out. If that happened, Mackenzie was suddenly deathly afraid that he'd never see Evan again.

They might move her to the ends of the earth to keep him from her. Mackenzie began planning, as he listened to the drone of the microwave. They'd need money. He was still too young for a summer job, and summer was a long way off. Could they keep their secret until summer?

_And what if we did?_ the voice of reason in his mind tormented. _We'd be unlikely to see each other outside of school._

How could they get money? Mackenzie knew his allowance would never be enough. And Dad and Shirley were scrupulous about their money; he'd never be able to con any out of them. He considered asking Cory, but not only would that make Mackenzie look even _more_ suspicious, but Cory was probably angry with him regardless. If Cory were angry because Mackenzie had been leading him on, why would he bother to help?

Besides the money issue, there was the issue of their identities. They would have to find a way to come up with completely new identities; they couldn't run away together, to someplace new, and still be twins. They had to be unrelated, or maybe second cousins if they couldn't disguise the family resemblance.

And finally, at least for now, he was going to have to come up with ways to either contact Evan, or be able to track her down if they were separated. But without money or being eighteen, he couldn't very well get his own cell phone. He was so lost in thought, he almost didn't notice his father was looking at him, vaguely concerned.

"What's eating at _you_?" his father said suddenly. "You look troubled."

Mackenzie met his cool brown eyes, a sliver of worry in them. His father didn't suspect anything… did he?

"Nah, nothing," Mackenzie said. "Do you think gay people are bad?" He asked this as a way to turn the subject, something that would hopefully never in a million years summon Evan's presence to his dad's mind, but also because he really wanted to know. He wasn't gay—but would his father be just as disgusted with Cory if he knew?

 

"That's a weighty subject for the middle of the night, son. Are you trying to tell me something?"

The microwave gave a long, plaintive beep, and Mackenzie went to get his food. "Nah," he said. "It's just something that came up in debate class." This, of course, was a lie; but his father would never call him on it even if he thought he _was_ lying.

Again, he was reminded of the relationship between Shirley and his father. It seemed like they had gulfs of space between them, whereas he and Evan were as close as it was possible to be. No one could understand their love; as twins, they shared everything, from the same genes to the same space in their mother's womb.

Nothing could sunder him from Evan forever. Physical distance could never truly break their bond. As Mackenzie ate, he took comfort in that.

It wasn't until he was lying back in bed, sleepless from all of the nerves, that he realized his dad had never actually answered his question.

:::

 

Evan didn't come to school. Mackenzie sat behind her empty desk in homeroom, and spent the day looking for her, but in his heart he could sense she wasn't there. Disappointment churned so badly within him that he felt almost physically sick. Besides which, he didn't know _why_ she hadn't come to school, so he kept expecting the worst: a call to the office about having sex on the roof; a call from Shirley about being seen with his sister.

Nothing happened. Mackenzie used the computers in the library during free period to check his email, see if she'd contacted him, but he didn't expect much and so he was unsurprised when there was nothing.

He did have an idea, though, while he was in the library. He did a quick search for "Laurel Raleigh Banks" and brought up her home address, thinking that at least that way, he knew where Evan lived, even if he could never go there.

He wished he could call Evan on the phone, even as he scribbled down her address in his notebook. His algebra notes were chaos, and he considered trying to tidy them up, or ask one of the other kids from his class for help, but he couldn't really concentrate.

He finally just sat there, pen in his mouth, thinking about the fact that because he was on the baseball team, he didn't have to take P.E., which meant that he'd have a free period all year, while Evan would be stuck doing who knows what for physical activity. Frankly he could think of plenty of physical activity for her to do, that would keep her body well-exercised, without having to play games in the smelly gym or change in the nasty locker rooms.

Owen came over at one point, his shirt half-untucked, and sat down across from Mackenzie at the table.

"So, Coach says you need to work on your swing. He said you're decent at fielding, but your hitting is still inconsistent."

"I won't be at practice tomorrow," Mackenzie said, drawing a spiral in his notebook. So far as he knew, only the coach and people from the office knew it was because he was going to see a shrink. He wasn't about to tell Owen why.

"Well, anyway, Coach thinks if you work on your upper body strength, you could maybe even develop into a power hitter." Owen snapped his gum, which earned him a glare from the librarian.

"Why didn't he tell me himself?" Mackenzie asked, scribbling over the spiral. He felt like the stupid doodle encapsulated his mood: vaguely euphoric in general with a black depression over top of it because he couldn't see Evan today.

"You rushed out of practice yesterday," Owen said, and shrugged. "Dunno why you were in such a hurry."

"Maybe I was going to meet a girl," Mackenzie said, wishing Owen would go find something else to do." The truth was, though, he'd already _been_ with a girl, and he couldn't wait to get home so he could whack off before Shirley got home from work.

"Yeah, right, loser," Owen said, which was when the librarian came striding over.

"Owen Schofield, you are supposed to be studying, not chewing the fat. Go find a study desk and be quiet."

Mackenzie was glad of the silence that fell. Owen had no idea that Mackenzie had a girl for real, the _best_ girl, who thought he was magic.

Evan would love him forever.

:::

Evan was going back to school on Wednesday, grateful that Laurel's headache had gone away the previous afternoon. Making sure she had water, headache pills, and a bucket in case she needed to puke was _so_ obnoxious and annoying, and Evan couldn't be happier to be going back to school, even though it was mostly because she knew Mackenzie would be there, too. She'd been able to think of hardly anything else all day yesterday.

George had come through for her, though. He'd been so pleased that she'd taken care of her mother—and hadn't skipped out on it—that he'd both given her a handful of condoms _and_ called the school so that she could take the bus. To her endless delight, she did share a bus with Mackenzie, and she savored the look on his face when he saw her climb on.

She made her way to the back, again wearing a pleated skirt and button-down blouse, and laughed to herself as she remembered rolling the skirt as she waited at the bus stop. Mackenzie's eyes kept straying down to her bare legs; even though it was quickly getting cool outside, Evan figured fashion overrode sense and did not wear the thigh high knit socks Meredith had also apparently purchased with the clothes.

"Hey," she said, as she slid into the seat next to Mackenzie. "How's it going, handsome?"

"Shh," Mackenzie whispered. "What are you doing?"

"Don't you wanna be with me?" Evan asked, stung. She'd thought he'd be happier! He had stared at her, hadn't he? What was his problem now?

"Of course I do," he said, though, very fast and very softly. "I never wanna be anywhere else," he said so low she almost couldn't hear him. "But we have to be like ninjas, remember?"

"It'll be fine," Evan said. "We've just met, remember? I'm not surprised you don't remember me."

But for all their subterfuge, no one on the bus was paying them any mind, anyway, so Evan risked dumping her backpack on her lap and using it as a cover so that she could put her hand on Mackenzie's thigh. She wasn't trying to give him a boner—though she suspected she had—but she was desperate to touch him again.

Even one short day away from him was too long, and the only reason Evan hadn't skipped out on migraine duty was because she hoped that, if she appeared suddenly obedient, George might follow through on some of his _other_ promises—or perhaps make new ones. Evan didn't really care about the dog anymore, because she had Mackenzie to think about and it wasn't like they could bring a dog _with_ them, but she was hoping to wear him down about a cell phone.

"How could I have forgotten someone so beautiful?" Mackenzie said, continuing the charade, though he spoke more softly than she did. "Seriously, watching you walk onto the bus was like watching a sunbeam reach for me."

Evan giggled a little and blushed, hiding her mouth behind her hand. Mackenzie was the consummate poet, right to the end, even when he knew he must sound ridiculous to anyone who might overhear—but the words made Evan's heart throb just the same; made her panties wet.

"Find me at free period," she whispered, as the school came into view outside the window. "Or I'll find you, whatever." She squeezed her legs together; slick smeared on her inner thighs. She wanted to direct Mackenzie's hand down, below the backpack, and between her legs, but they didn't have time; the bus was pulling up to the school.

:::

Mackenzie's dick was so hard, he was having trouble breathing. It ached and pulsed in time with his heartbeat, and rubbed roughly against the inner thigh of his jeans as he tried to walk down the aisle of the bus after his sister. Her hips swayed, and he couldn't be sure, but he thought she was exaggerating on purpose—and he didn't need that, he was so hard his eyes were crossing, too.

Walking with such an inconvenient boner was excessively difficult, but Mackenzie managed. Only, once he got inside the school, instead of following Evan directly to their homeroom, he went to the boys' bathroom.

He was just going to adjust himself in there, but his hand felt so good wrapping around that soft-hard flesh that he ended up taking it out inside a stall and jacking it loosely. He didn't need a lot of stimulation—Evan's image burned into his memory provided that—and he wasn't worried about satisfying her later; there was an even better chance that he would last longer if he came now.

So he stroked and tugged at his cock until, finally, he lost it, shooting white and think into the toilet basin. He was flushed and sweaty now, and his hand smelled like dick, but he used his shoe to depress the handle, flushing the toilet. He tucked himself into his briefs again and zipped up his jeans, hoping that just the scent of Evan's hair and skin didn't bring back the boner, and kicked open the stall door and went to wash his hands.

He was lucky; there were no other boys in the bathroom at the time to witness his impromptu jerk-off session. He washed the scent of come off his hands and wondered whether Evan would be able to tell, just by looking at him, what she'd driven him to do in a toilet stall _at school_. He wondered if she'd be able to smell the orgasm still lingering on his skin.

Finished, he grabbed his backpack and hotfooted it to homeroom just in time to watch Evan smooth her skirt as she sat down, and swing perfect, creamy legs around under the desk. Mackenzie's heart pitched a fit and his ears rang; the boner tried to resurface with but limited success, thank God.

He pulled his backpack in front of him and went to take his own seat. Ms. Fornahan called roll, and said,

"It's nice to see you back, Evan. Feeling better? I hope you won't make it a habit, though. This is only the fourth day."

"My mother needed some help," Evan said, and just the sound of her voice thrilled Mackenzie's ears. His body sang with it, as if he had become a guitar string, vibrating when plucked by the unimitable sound of her voice. He hid behind his hair, feeling his face flush even darker than before, when he'd been whacking off.

"Just so," said Ms. Fornahan, and moved on to the next student. She rattled off the names until she got to Mackenzie, and he wasn't surprised how low and hoarse he sounded when she called out, "Mackenzie Stuart," and he replied, "here!"

After that it was just housekeeping stuff until the bell rang, and Mackenzie fiddled with his notebooks as Evan whispered to someone who sat next to them. A boy Mackenzie didn't know. Suddenly he felt hot under the collar for an entirely different reason.

Then, just as suddenly, she whirled in her seat and pinned Mackenzie with stormy-ocean eyes.

"Don't you think so?" she asked, and he stared at her, no words in his mouth.

"I d-don't—"

"Oh, fuck," Evan said with a laugh. It sounded so beautiful and unforced, and she was eyeing the other boy again—a boy who was definitely staring at her tits. Mackenzie's blood boiled. He couldn't decide if he wanted to punch the kid because he was her big brother, or because he was her lover. He decided both were good reasons, and—

Evan put her hand on his forearm; it nearly burned through his shirt as if she'd scorched through it and then flayed the skin away just from the illicitness of her touch in public view. But it stopped him from pulling his arm back, and just in time.

"It's not important," she said, presumably referring to whatever she'd asked him before when he wasn't listening. "But, do you have your algebra notes? I think Mr. Boudoin might throw a pop quiz."

"I, ah, don't," Mackenzie said sheepishly. He hadn't taken any, and it was totally her fault. But the kid—who was still ogling—piped up and said,

"You can borrow mine. Wanna return them at lunch? I know a place we can go—"

"Nope," Evan said, twisting back to face forward. Mackenzie tried to pin the kid to the wall with eye lasers. It didn't work, not that he was especially surprised. That fucker was _still_ staring, even though his view was mostly of the side now. "I'm all spoken for at lunchtime," Evan continued, and Mackenzie bristled. Who was she meeting? What did she see in them? Even that girl, Jo-Anne, was a huge threat to their anonymity and besides, Evan had kissed her before. Mackenzie knew that Evan loved him above all other people, but—what if she decided she'd preferred being a lesbian? Or that she was bi, but she preferred women?

What if she snuck up onto the roof with Jo-Anne, instead, and decided fucking her was better than fucking Mackenzie? He _was_ still her brother, after all—Dr. Forbes had said family was forever. And Evan was his forever. But that didn't mean she couldn't want something—someone—else. Even if Mackenzie would never want to kiss or touch another soul now that he had touched hers.

He felt so dizzyingly overwhelmed, like his head was swimming and he was only capable of poetry: _I had reached into her chest / and instead of blood pumped through muscle and bone / I touched her soul / and was lost in the rest_.

Then the bell rang, and for the most part, the spell was broken.

:::

Evan's classes fucking dragged just like they _were_ a fucking drag. She wanted to be close to Mackenzie. She wanted to lean in and inhale his scent, breathe him in—especially the way he'd smelled in homeroom, slightly sweet, slightly bitter. She knew what she did to him, and she didn't need to ask him to know what he'd been doing before he dashed into the classroom.

She wished she'd been so lucky. It wasn't the same for a girl; she had been wet and aching, feeling so fucking _empty_ and in need of his cock, in need of a good dicking, and she'd been unable to find any kind of relief. She had tried to distract herself by talking to a new kid that sat next to her, but it only encouraged him. She didn't want to fuck any other boys now.

And knowing that Mackenzie had just gotten off had almost fucking killed her in a sense; she'd been more riled up than ever, certain her face held a rosy flush of arousal that she couldn't hide, even as she soaked her panties more and more.

Then Mackenzie, looking at her with that _expression_ , rapt and undone, like he'd beheld the face of God or something—well, that took care of one problem for her. She still felt empty, as her inner walls clenched down on air, as she orgasmed in her seat and tried not to let it show. To think! Just his face, the way he looked at her—it was enough to get her off without any touching or petting or anything.

Finally, though, it was lunchtime, and Evan was practically flying through the cramped, packed halls—well, pushing and shoving and fuck whoever got in her way—to get to the lunchroom, certain that Mackenzie would be there.

And he was! Evan's heart turned a somersault in her chest; her breath swooped in and out of her lungs. Her body began to ache and simmer just from looking at him: all that golden male beauty, all of it hers, all of it born and bred with the same blood that ran through her veins. God, it made her so fucking lustful, just knowing that he was her twin brother. Part of her knew they could never tell anyone; part of her wanted to climb back to the school roof and shout, _hear ye, hear ye, I'm about to fuck my twin brother!_ just before she stripped naked and took him inside of her.

Mackenzie went through the lunch line, and Evan, her pulse beating heavy in her throat, followed. She didn't even know what she put on her tray, just that she slopped some food on a plate and then, like he was a hook reeling her in, like a fish, she followed him to a table.

"Wait!" he said, and sat down, but he wasn't looking at her; no, he was glancing furtively around the cafeteria. "Not here, remember!"

Evan came back to her senses. She'd been separated from him for hours—she hadn't been able to resist his siren tug on her mind, her body. But he was right. Sitting with him now, giving people impressions, that wasn't a good thing. She might wish she could tell the world and fuck them all—but the police would probably have something to say about it, and she didn't want to lose him forever. She didn't think she could survive that. She _knew_ she couldn't survive that.

Jo-Anne saw her and began sweeping towards her; Evan manufactured a smile, pasted it on, and let Jo-Anne link their arms together.

But she could feel the heat of Mackenzie's death glare against her back. She knew it wasn't directed at her, but Mackenzie's displeasure at Jo-Anne stung her nerves anyway. How could she make him understand that he was the only thing real, and everything else was just for show?

:::

Evan decided not to use the condoms. She didn't even want to mention them to Mackenzie—he might want to use them, if she reminded him; but the more she thought about it, the more she just wanted his baby. A physical representation of their love. A secret they could both keep and flaunt—at the same time.

Seventh period rolled around and Evan knew the instant Mackenzie spotted her, because her neck prickled and her cheeks grew warm. He must've taken about one step towards her when her body went weak and fluid; her panties grew damp, and the more she thought about how he would be inside her—soon, so soon now!—the wetter she got.

She wanted to blow him a kiss, or grab his hand, or any number of things they shouldn't do just yet—in the end, she broke her own rules when he got close enough that she could _smell_ him, and she turned around, reached out, wrapped her arms around him and backed them both into a supply closet.

Getting rid of Jo-Anne without totally incriminating herself had _not_ been easy. Jo-Anne wanted to be the one in the supply closet with Evan, and she didn't like the fact that Evan was suddenly spending so much less time with her. But how could Evan concentrate on Jo-Anne when her brain was just a constant uninterrupted loop of _Mackenzie_?

But Jo-Anne had P.E., and Evan convinced her that she should actually go, because maybe she'd put on some muscle—or something, whatever the fuck—and it might interest Cory more. Luckily Jo-Anne's desire for a new conquest was pretty strong, because after only three—dammit—kisses _on the mouth_ , Evan had ditched Jo at the gym and then taken off through the congested halls to find Mackenzie.

The fact that Cory hadn't immediately fallen at her feet had Jo-Anne confused and hungry for him, and that served Evan pretty well. She was glad that Jo-Anne was distracted, even a little, from her supposed _love_ of Evan herself; Evan knew that Jo-Anne couldn't fathom why Cory hadn't succumbed and taken her clothes off yet, or fucked her silly and senseless.

But now Mackenzie was backing her up against the wall of the closet, and Evan forgot all about Jo-Anne as his lips found hers. They fumbled in the dimly lit room—the only illumination coming from the hall lights under the crack in the door—and as Evan reached above her head with one arm, fingers scrabbling for purchase against the smooth wall, something fell to the floor with a clatter.

A jolt went through Mackenzie's body at the noise, and Evan kissed him all the harder; she pressed her tongue against his and swallowed his startled noise. He melted into her, and she was beyond aching, her lower lips throbbing ceaselessly, needing to feel his hard flesh driving into her and filling up her empty channel.

"More, Mac, more," she began to whimper, urging him on as he lifted her skirt and pushed her thong panties to the side. For just a split second, Evan wondered if her mother had seen the semen stains in her panties from Monday—but then all other thoughts besides ones of Mackenzie were lost. He jammed his hand between them and she could feel the shape of his fingers as he unzipped his jeans, could feel the hot hard stab of his cock as it pressed into the slight swell of her stomach.

And then Mackenzie was lifting her up, and she wrapped a leg around him as he aimed and entered her; once seated fully on his dick, she raised the other leg and crossed her ankles at the small of his back as he supported her. Her arms wound around his neck now, and she groaned at the feeling of him within her, so wickedly hot and pulsing against her own throbbing walls. The ache, the throb, it all jumbled together in a mess of sensation that traveled to every pleasure receptor in her body and overwhelmed them, every last one.

She could feel the veins in Mackenzie's arm against her face as she leaned against both him and back against the wall, and he held her up with strength she didn't know he had. He thrust, and her back skidded up the wall, then she'd slide slowly down again, her cheek buried against his straining arm, as he began to move in a more natural rhythm.

He fucked her so _good_ , hard and perfect and slightly rough at the edges, and Evan moaned against his sweaty skin; she gathered herself somewhat and laid kisses on whatever parts of him she could reach, and all the while, his dick stroked her deep inside, scratching that itch she'd had since the last time he'd touched her like this. He was grunting with every angled push of his hips, and his voice was deeper than she remembered from Before, and she loved it. She loved everything about him to absolute distraction, and the feel of him moving deep in her pussy made her eyes roll up in her head a little; made her breathing rapid; made her body feel heavy all over as it filled with blood in all the best places.

Her labia were swollen, so swollen, and his hand was back between them, finding her center and stimulating it until she felt her juices run down his cock and over her inner thighs, soaking them both. He rubbed at her clit, then slowly caressed her swollen labia until her heart beat furiously everywhere, but especially down below. And then he flicked his thumb against her clit one more time as he drove her up the wall with the force of his thrust, and Evan buried her teeth in his arm, smothering her scream, as she went to shiny sharp shards of pleasure in his embrace.

:::

Mackenzie felt proud of himself, even through the haze of arousal, that he'd brought Evan to completion before he spilled inside her. Her body squeezed around him, and she was a hot, wet glove that fit to him exactly everywhere they were joined. Every time he slid back up into her, he felt the shock of heat and dampness echo through his body, from his teeth to his toes. It was unbelievable. It was unbearable. It was _exhilarating_.

He'd never felt so powerful, either, as he made her come, clenching down on his cock, her mouth biting down on his arm, her body a sweaty slick mess in his arms. He could feel her nipples against his chest, hard jutting points, and they rubbed against him every time she breathed or he moved.

He was getting close, too. He could hear his heart pumping in his ears even as his hips pumped forcefully in tandem, thrusting into her, listening to her ragged breathing as if it were his own—or maybe it was? They were so attuned to each other he actually wasn't certain if the beat in his ears was from his heart or hers; whether that heavy, raspy, thick breathing was his or hers. Maybe she was moaning hoarsely against him; perhaps he was the one moaning into her soft, soft, sweat-damp skin.

He pressed her hard to the wall; her body was soft and forgiving and softened the hard angles of his, her pelvis a cradle for his as he fit himself snug into her, and then he lost his rhythm as his body swelled, as his balls tightened, as she suddenly lifted her head and kissed him full on the mouth—he'd ascended the mountain, and now he went tumbling over the peak, body shivering and shaking as his cock released streams of jizz into her tight heat.

When it was over, he couldn't catch a full breath, and he lowered Evan gently to a sitting position on the floor, then collapsed onto his ass beside her, and they held hands, fingers linked, keeping them joined even now that his cock was lying half-limp against his thigh and she was probably dripping all manner of fluids onto the floor.

It had been earth-shattering again; world-shaking. His entire frame of reference for existing had been altered; he felt like the very carbon of his being had been rewritten by the silk and satin wet of his twin sister's body. He felt like a gong that someone had struck too hard, but in a good way; his limbs were relaxed and he was boneless leaning against her, and knowing that she'd been there with him from the very beginning, from the instant of their conception to their shared space in the womb, filled him with a sort of unimaginable wonder.

He might have sat there, ruminating on what it meant to have sex with her, all day if not for the fact that she tightened her hand in his, bringing his mind back down from the galaxies it had been inhabiting and back to her, to the earthy, rich scent of her arousal and her orgasm. He inhaled and then nuzzled his face in her neck.

"Mac, we have to get out of here before the bell rings, or else people will see us," she said, even as she mouthed over the prints of her teeth in his arm. "I don't want to, either."

"Glimmer, not yet," Mackenzie murmured. "Just let me stay like this forever; you're the only glimmer of hope in an undiluted horizon of gray nothingness."

"You have baseball," she reminded him.

"You're the only diamond I want," he replied, folding her into his embrace again, just enough, so that she fit perfectly there and all of his hard edges were smoothed by her softness.

"Pah, poet. Do you know, I didn't set out to do it, but I was drawing naked pictures? Of _you_?"

In the relative darkness, she began shifting around, until all of a sudden warm, damp fabric was in his hands.

"Keep them," she said. "Smell them when you whack off, and use them to think of me, to remember me. Don't forget how much I love you." _Or how much I want you,_ went along with, implied.

"I won't," Mackenzie said, "and I will." He clutched them to his chest—the panties she'd been wearing. He could smell her body's aroused scent on them, and his dick gave a feeble twitch.

"It's time to go, Mac," Evan said gently. But then she clung to him just as hard. "I have to see you again soon. Baseball practice? I'm grounded but it will be worth the punishment. Besides which, George has no other punishment he can mete out, and Laurel doesn't fucking care. She's the worst mother in the world."

"She still separated us," Mackenzie said. "She must have thought—"

"Exactly. Worst mother in the world." Evan snuggled in close to him, placing deliberate, open-mouthed kisses along his collarbone where it peeked out of his shirt.

"Oh, wait, I have to see my therapist today," Mackenzie said. The thought made his insides twist up and become painful, like a bruise suddenly pressed. "I can't—"

"I know." Evan pulled back from him, then away. She stood up, her skirt fluttering back down around her thighs. Mackenzie's heart cracked, even though he knew it didn't mean she didn't love him anymore.

She opened the door, peered around the edge of it, then turned back, blew him a kiss, just before she went out.

Mackenzie barely had the energy to put his cock away. He barely made it to algebra on time, too.

And once again, as Mr. Boudoin taught in furious flourishes over the board, the only thing Mackenzie could think of was Evan, from the sounds of her pleasure to the sweetness of her lips—down to the way he felt like he could touch her on a molecular level.

There was no one else like them. There couldn't be. And in that, they were so unique, that their love was destined to exist forever.

:::

"Good afternoon, Mackenzie. How are you feeling today?" Dr. Forbes asked. She adjusted her glasses on her nose. Mackenzie cocked his head and regarded her.

"I don't remember you wearing glasses," he said, avoiding the question on purpose. He fidgeted in the chair, pushing his hair back with his fingers, jiggling his knees. He hated it here, and he resented Shirley _and_ Dr. Forbes for making him miss baseball practice—and the chance to see Evan cheering him on from the bleachers.

That was the crux of it, really: he could be seeing Evan right now, instead of this woman whose face was a pale imitation that slightly reminded him of the glorious countenance of his sister. He wished he had something to cover his lap in case he thought about Evan too much—he already knew he'd get hard; he always did, for her. And it didn't even seem weird anymore.

"Ah, that," she said, gifting him with an abashed smile. "I accidentally lost one of my contacts down the drain this morning, so until I can get new ones I'm stuck with my glasses, I'm afraid. But you didn't answer my question."

"I'm great," Mackenzie said sullenly. "I'm supposed to be practicing my swing some more, and instead I'm here. How would _you_ feel?"

"Do you want to explore that today? Why is baseball so important to you, Mackenzie? Because I think if you focused on that, like you so obviously want to, and made friends with your teammates, maybe it would help you think about Evan less."

"I'm good at it," Mackenzie said. He looked at her from under the fringe of his bangs, his hair getting too long. "But my teammates are chauvinistic pigs. I hate them." That wasn't strictly true; mostly Mackenzie just didn't care about them. He didn't think about them unless he was actually at practice.

"You just started high school," Dr. Forbes said, offering another smile. It was probably supposed to be charming, to get him to open up to her. But he was missing Evan and the velvet touch of her lips too much to want to. "How is it going so far? Are you adjusting to your classes? Perhaps you can make some friends with your classmates."

"I get what you're doing," Mackenzie said. "You want me to talk about Evan, and how I don't miss her anymore. But you're wrong. I'll always miss her." He wasn't even lying; he missed her every single second he wasn't with her, even though she was in his life again.

"It's not that you can't miss her, Mackenzie. But you think about her so much…"

"How do _you_ know?" he asked, glaring at her. "I hate this shit. I hate you trying to poke around in my brain."

"Okay, let's talk about what you'd like. Tell me about your life now." Dr. Forbes leaned back in her chair, the picture of an open-minded listener. Mackenzie struggled to suppress the thoughts that came flooding in, all of them a whirling morass that centered on his sister—and having sex with her. Before he realized what was happening, he was smiling a little, the skin of his cheeks warm to the touch of his hands.

"Something good has happened," Dr. Forbes said. "Would you like to tell me about it?"

"Would it make you happy to know I fucked someone? Twice." Mackenzie smiled at her; it felt serpentine on his face, like he was eyeing her sideways and just _daring_ her to guess the truth.

"That's… news," she said carefully. "You just turned fifteen, didn't you? Did you use protection?"

_That_ was what she wanted to know? Mackenzie frowned. "No," he said, suddenly regretful—well, almost. A dirty, previously untenanted portion of his brain offered up the idea that maybe he was _glad_. "I didn't."

"Well, I'm sure you know what I'm going to say, Mackenzie. You're young; you need to be conscientious. I'm telling you this because I care about you, okay? You don't want to contract any diseases or get anyone pregnant. Is she on the pill?" Then Dr. Forbes paused. "Or is it a boy? Did you lose your virginity to Cory, Mackenzie?"

"I did not," he replied, with a savage smile. "I don't wanna mess around with him anymore. Besides, I told you before: I'm not gay."

"Okay. Was it a girl?"

"Someone I go to school with," Mackenzie said. He pictured Evan's pretty high cheekbones dusted with a flush after she'd just come. His own body stirred a little and he slouched in his seat, the better for his long t-shirt to cover his crotch. He was going to get hard—he couldn't stop thinking about her. _Evan_. The beauty of his myths and memories. The black-haired, stormy-eyed vision he saw when he fell asleep every night; the dark curls a remembered softness in his hands when he closed his eyes during the day.

Shit, he thought about her all the fucking time; he couldn't stop—and he didn't want to. Just the reminder of her made him think about how, right this moment, her worn panties were secreted under his bed next to her well-worn photo. He couldn't wait for school picture day—he'd have to get her to give him a new one, he just _had_ to.

"Would you like to tell me about her?" Dr. Forbes asked. "I'm not going to judge you, Mackenzie, I just want you to be safe."

"I don't think she's on the pill," Mackenzie said. That savagery was beginning to gestate in his soul. He was filling up with it, like venom that he could use as a defense against anyone who tried to stop them. He would never let her go. "I'm pretty sure I'm in love," he added, watching the slight play of emotion over Dr. Forbes's face. She was trying to remain impassive, but she obviously had opinions about this.

"That's really wonderful," she said. "How did this happen so quickly?"

Mackenzie just wanted to gush about Evan, but he had to be at least a little circumspect in his descriptions and answers. He couldn't give it all away, especially because he wasn't sure if Dr. Forbes had to tell someone if he was fucking his sister. Incest was illegal, wasn't it?

"I dunno. Love at first sight, I guess. She's so gorgeous… and I just, I dunno. I got caught up, I guess."

"Why don't you tell me some more about her?" Dr. Forbes asked. Mackenzie studied her. Would she remember all those gross things she'd said? The way she'd made Mackenzie feel when she talked about Evan?

Mackenzie shrugged. "There's not a lot to tell. She's the real thing, but I think she loves me too. She wanted to meet up with me after school today, but I had to come here." He was still pissed about that. What was Evan doing right now, while he squirmed his way through this uncomfortable probing of his mind, his feelings? He hoped she never had to go through this, to feel like someone was cracking open her skull and looking inside.

"I think these sessions will be valuable to you, if you just give therapy a real fighting chance, Mackenzie." Dr. Forbes took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes for a minute. When she put them back on, her eyes were red. Mackenzie wanted to imagine he'd made her cry.

When did he become so mean? he wondered. He'd never before been particularly violent, but the thought of messing with her head, of upsetting her, was disturbingly attractive.

"Time's up," Mackenzie said, jumping out of the chair. He wanted to run to the door, but he had to wait, anxiously shifting from foot to foot, as Dr. Forbes took her time writing out the card with his next appointment on it. "I never wanna come back," he told her, mostly because he just wanted her to know, even though he was perfectly aware that Shirley would make him come back. Dr. Forbes stood up, too. She handed him the card, and for a second she held his hand.

"You have a lot of unresolved issues," she said. "Sadness and anger. Not to mention that depression. You need this, and I'm hoping in time you can see that, and can see why."

"Just let me go," he said, snatching his hand away and hurling the door open. It hit the wall with a crash and Shirley gasped in dismay, staring at him with wide eyes.

"You need to watch yourself!" she said angrily, and Mackenzie just slouched down even more. He didn't care what Shirley said to him anymore.

Evan was the panacea to everything that ailed him, and that was all that mattered.

:::

Evan got permission from George to attend the after-school driver's ed class, despite being grounded, and she was thrilled to see Mackenzie there, as well. They hadn't been able to sneak off together during school that day, so Evan sat in the algebra classroom and just drank him in: he wore his blond hair longer now, and tighter jeans than she remembered. He was sitting in the desk right next to hers, and even though he didn't look at her, she could feel his attention like a warm, comforting ray of sunlight.

Just before the instructor entered the room, Evan remembered something. "Mac," she whispered. "We don't need a plan so much as each other's email, and we forgot!"

Now he turned to look at her, and his eyes were burning, beautiful and she felt almost scalded by the love in them. He smiled at her.

"You're right, we did." He looked like he was going to say more, but the instructor entered and closed the door with a slam that made everyone jump.

"I'm Mr. DuBois," he said, using a pointer to indicate his name on the board. "If you don't pay attention in this class, not only will you be wasting your parents' money—"

"Unless we paid for it ourselves!" shouted someone. The instructor glared.

"—as I was saying, but also you will fail the written driver's test. Fail the test, and you won't get your license. That should be enough incentive to do well, yes?"

Evan threw open her notebook. She had to pass; if she got her license, she could drive to meet Mackenzie places. Hell, she could drive to find him if their parents ever found out about them. But even as Mr. DuBois started to rattle off laws and facts and info, her mind wandered to Mackenzie seated so close.

With a start, she realized Cory was in the class as well. She'd thought he was older, but apparently he was taking the class, too, either for the first time or re-taking it. And, that might have been okay, except he couldn't keep his eyes off Mackenzie.

The third or fourth time his gaze wandered to Mackenzie, her brother caught him looking and looked back. And smiled. Just a little, but it was enough—was Mackenzie _flirting_? She'd suspected for awhile that his stepbrother was a little _too_ into him, and she'd told Jo-Anne that Mackenzie liked Cory, but at the time that she'd said that, it had just been a cover story.

But why that soft, almost tender smile back at him, then? What was going on? Evan was reasonably sure that Mackenzie wouldn't want to fuck anyone but her, now, but what if she was wrong? Maybe Mackenzie liked dick too and she obviously didn't have one.

"What do you do at a stop sign? This isn't as easy as it sounds." Mr. DuBois was speaking loudly, and Evan realized that, according to the board, she should be on page twenty-nine of her book, and she had yet to even open it. To her dismay, his searching eyes landed on her. "You," he said, even though she hadn't raised her hand. He was obviously looking to make a scapegoat out of someone.

"Come to a complete stop?" she said, because she'd wanted her driver's license for a long time, and she'd studied some of the rules before. Besides which, George had been giving her pointers all week. This was actually even one of them.

The instructor looked disgruntled. Evan quickly opened her book and flipped the pages to the correct one.

"That's right," he said, and Evan caught Mackenzie's glance at her out of the corner of her eye. She didn't dare turn to face him, especially not when the instructor was still droning on and probably just looking for an excuse to call on her again.

But Mr. DuBois's attention went elsewhere, and Evan tore a page out of her notebook. She wrote her email address on it, folded it, and dropped it on the floor. When it fluttered to the ground, she threw a hastily apologetic smile towards the front of the classroom before leaning down. Instead of picking it up and putting it back on her desk, though, she slipped it into Mackenzie's open backpack.

Mackenzie would have seen her do it, too, except he was pointing out a diagram—or a street sign, or something—in the book to Cory, whose eyes were glittering dark and whose face was flushed. Evan, who had still been holding her pencil, suddenly found herself holding only the part of the pencil with the eraser—she'd snapped it in half. The piece with the point was rolling to a stop on her desk; Evan put down the part she held, carefully laid the two pieces side by side, and tried not to imagine jamming the lead, pointy bit into the soft squishy part of Cory's eyeball.

Very nonchalantly but deliberately, she kicked Mackenzie's desk leg. His desk shuddered, the book wobbled, and Cory's eyes met hers instead. Just like that, he turned his face back towards the instructor, and Evan leaned a little to the side.

"Check your backpack," she whispered out of the corner of her mouth. Mr. DuBois turned on a slideshow projector and began to run through different street signs and what they meant. He probably hoped that this would inspire the class to pay closer attention; however, now that Evan knew Mackenzie was in this class—with _her_ —she found her focus was shot. And the kids were all chattering amongst themselves, so she poked Mackenzie with a fingertip. "And give me yours!"

Mackenzie reached down and felt around in his backpack without looking; after a moment he pulled out her note. He opened it flat on his desk, read it, wrote something across the bottom in his beautiful handwriting, and tore the sheet in half. Mr. DuBois was staring down at the projector for a moment and Mac snuck the paper into her waiting palm.

He'd written his email address, too, and the note: _Steve McQueen. Pay attention. We need to be able to drive._

Evan fumed in her seat. Sure, tell _her_ to pay attention, but keep giving all those melting looks to that fucking boy. And he lived with that fucking boy! Shit, Evan thought, what if they were doing it at home? What if Mackenzie could get all the dick he wanted—what if he didn't even care that she'd given him her panties?

Evan was so distracted by her anxious thoughts, she didn't even hear the instructor dismiss the class. She would probably have sat there like a fucking numbnut except that she saw Mackenzie get up. He cast a furtive peek at her, then ducked his head in close to listen to whatever that Fucking Boy had to say. Evan seethed as she put her class materials away. She had to go home—to George and Laurel and Meredith—and he got to go home with Mackenzie, _her_ brother, not his, and _her_ lover—not his!

"Wait up," the Fucking Boy said to her brother. "I have to drive you."

He could drive? What the fuck was he even _doing_ in this class, then?! Evan deliberately slammed her backpack onto the ground, bent, pretended to trip, and crashed bodily into Mackenzie, who turned and immediately grabbed her hand. He lifted her back to her feet easily.

"What's he _doing_ here?" she hissed. Mackenzie shrugged, then murmured so only she could hear,

"He's my ride home." Then Mackenzie had to run to catch up to the Fucking Boy, and Evan was left behind. Alone. With the knowledge that she still didn't understand. If he'd sat through the entire class just to drive Mackenzie home… then he'd probably done it because he wanted a piece of that ass.

And that Fucking Boy could just go hang, because that ass—and every wonderful thing that went with it—was hers. _Mackenzie_ was hers.

For better or for worse. Someday, she'd make that happen—or die trying.

:::

Cory came into Mackenzie's room that night, after driver's ed class was over. He didn't sit on the bed this time, but the floor, leaning against the bed frame.

"That girl—the one you like—she was giving me looks like she wanted me to spontaneously combust and disappear, just for talking to you. I think she likes you back." Cory sounded resigned about this. Mackenzie put down the poetry magazine he'd been reading—a gift for his birthday from his father—and gave Cory his full attention. He thought, cynically, that the reason he could do that right now was because Cory was talking about Evan.

"Relax," Mackenzie said, carding his hands through the longer strands of Cory's hair. He wasn't even sure why he did it; was he keeping up appearances, or just needed the tactile sensation? "I don't even know her."

"You must have gotten to know her a little," Cory said, in a voice that held something dangerous in it. "I've seen you sneak off together during seventh period. How many free periods do you have?"

"Two, but that ends tomorrow," Mackenzie said, but he was distracted. Cory had seen them? But they'd tried to be so careful! "I don't know what you think you saw, but—"

"Don't fuck with me, Mackenzie. Not anymore." Cory shoved away from the bed so that Mackenzie's hand fell away from his hair. "I don't know what you were doing, but… Shit, I don't even mind if you like someone else. But don't try to trick me into believing you love me when you don't anymore."

This was bad. He couldn't fool Cory anymore, and he couldn't let anyone know about Evan, obviously. So what should he do? And then he remembered his father. Asking his father whether gay people were bad. Kissing Cory, whether Mackenzie was straight or not, had not grossed him out. He had found something better—something so much better, it was like being among the stars of another, distant galaxy—but it hadn't made him sick to do it. He didn't think gay people were bad, and he didn't hate Cory for it. But his feelings were certainly inconvenient.

He also remembered the matter-of-fact way that Dr. Forbes had asked if he was gay, like she wasn't judging, only curious. So he tried to think of some way to turn the subject, to get Cory back on his side. And he didn't want to threaten him, not really anyway, but he could if he had to: Shirley would be apoplectic if she found out her "perfect" son was gay.

"I didn't mean for it to happen," Mackenzie said, which was essentially the truth, anyway. He hadn't meant to _fuck_ Evan when he saw her again. That damn doctor… Mackenzie really wanted to give her a piece of his mind. But no matter, anyway; she might have dredged the idea up from the depths in Mackenzie's mind, but what she didn't know—couldn't understand—was that Mackenzie and Evan would never want to be parted.

Cory turned around. "Just tell me the truth. Did you ever like me at all? Even a little bit? Because I'm in love—I _was_ in love—with you, Mac."

Mackenzie wanted to scream at him to stop using that nickname, the one reserved for Evan, the only person who deserved to use it. But he bit that back.

"I did like you. But Cory, we're just kids. You didn't think it was gonna last forever, did you?" Mackenzie pushed the blankets away from his legs. It was getting too warm in his room. "I'm sorry." Apologizing was harder than he thought it would be; the words almost stuck in his throat.

"Nah, you know what? Forget it." Cory jumped to his feet. "But a word of advice, Mackenzie: don't skip too many classes for shenanigans with some girl. You _will_ get caught."

"Take some advice of your own," Mackenzie said, still kind of thinking of his father. "Don't get caught, either. Just date that girl until you graduate. Go off to college; you can experiment then."

Cory winced, as if this were painful to hear, and then picked up Mackenzie's magazine briefly. He flipped through the pages, and Mackenzie was glad he'd already hidden Evan's email address with her photo and panties, zipped inside his mattress cover. Cory was too nosy—why hadn't he seen that before?

"There's no money in poetry, Mac. And also, Mr. Chester hates it. I'm not sure whether he hates the idea of it entirely, or if he's just never found a poem he liked."

Mackenzie snatched the magazine back. "Thanks for the tip. I'm gonna go to sleep."

"It's early…" Cory said, trailing off. He must have seen something in the look on Mackenzie's face, because he shrugged and went out the door, closing it with a "click" very softly behind him. As soon as he was gone, Mackenzie figured out why his brain was still circling the idea of his father, like a shark.

The Rolex. If Mackenzie were quick, smart, and careful, he could probably lift it off his father's bureau while he was asleep. It was probably worth a decent amount of money, something that could help him and Evan if and when they needed to get away.

He set the alarm for one in the morning, when everyone should be in bed, and closed his eyes.

:::

Evan spotted Jo-Anne heading for her lunch table and rolled her eyes. Drama was incoming, she could tell from the expression on Jo-Anne's face. Evan stuffed her mouth full of turkey sandwich, the bread nice and soft, and hoped that if she were chewing, she wouldn't be required to make any responses to Jo-Anne's complaints.

"Hey, chickie, listen," Jo-Anne said, before she'd even sat down. She threw her legs over the bench. "I was gonna go on another date with Cory, but I saw him looking at his stepbrother this morning, when they got to school? And I don't know. It was fucked up."

Evan nodded, swallowed, and quickly took another bite. Jo-Anne didn't sound angry—yet. But she had that glint in her eye that suggested she was going to lose her shit any moment.

"Oh, fuck, he's walking this way," Jo-Anne said, and the glint lit like a flame and she popped up onto her feet. "Hey, Cory. C'mere and give me a kiss. Don't you think it's time we showed everyone here how serious we are?"

Across the cafeteria, Evan saw Mackenzie's face darken. He looked worried. What did he know? And then a terrible thought slithered through her mind, like coming across a snake in a beautiful garden. _What if he had fucked Cory already?_

"Jo-Anne," Cory said, rather weakly to Evan's estimation. He went up to her, and he gave her a quick hug, but he barely touched her. Jo-Anne smirked; the fire had not gone out in her eyes, and Evan braced herself for an explosion.

Jo-Anne, when she spoke, did it softly enough so that the teachers wouldn't overhear or interfere.

"I want your tongue in my mouth, candy-boy," she said. "I wanna make your dick hard. But I can't do that, can I?"

"W-what do you mean?" Cory leaned in, kissed her. He may have even used his tongue. But Mackenzie looked like he was watching a horror movie—or that he was _in _one—and Evan got the impression there was something distinctly wrong here.__

__Jo-Anne pushed him back with a hand on his chest. "You don't wanna fuck me." It was a pure, undiluted statement of fact. Cory blanched._ _

__"I d-do, just, I want it to be special," he stammered. He looked like his world was about to come crashing down—and Evan didn't think it was because they were about to break up._ _

__"No," Jo-Anne said. "You definitely do not want to fuck me. Every boy I've ever been interested in has wanted in my pants, the sooner the better. But not you. Are you a fag?"_ _

__Cory went bone-white, but whether it was because the accusation was true, or just because it was so awful to hear the slur said aloud among a horde of teenagers, Evan couldn't say. She met Mackenzie's gaze across the room. He was mouthing something: _no, no, no_._ _

__Evan felt anger burn to life inside her. That Fucking Boy had done something to her brother. Why should Mackenzie care if the Fucking Boy was a fag? Did he really want him back? Evan herself, having made out with Jo-Anne countless times, didn't necessarily think being gay itself was a tragedy or a terrible thing._ _

__But being gay for her brother—that was an unforgivable transgression. Evan clicked her pen and sat back._ _

__"I-I'm not," the Fucking Boy said, and then he turned and practically ran from the cafeteria. Evan waited for Jo-Anne to come back, to sit down, and leaned in close to her._ _

__"I think you're right," she whispered, though loudly enough for the rest of her lunch table to hear. "I think he is. Or else he would've fucked you by now, no question."_ _

__"Right?" said Jo-Anne, and Evan smiled. That Fucking Boy would never get close to her brother again._ _

__:::_ _

__The roof was becoming their _spot_ , Mackenzie thought lazily as he stroked his fingers through Evan's long black curls. It was very hot that day, for September, and by unspoken agreement he and Evan had decided that it was too sweltering for fucking._ _

__Instead, Mackenzie sat with his back against the rusted door, his legs spread out, with Evan's head in his lap, as she stared wistfully up at the blue, blue sky. He could see it, the blue, the light fluffy clouds, all reflected in her eyes, and it was beautiful. He wished he could look into her eyes and be able to see what she saw, the _way_ she saw it._ _

__"Mac," Evan said, her voice as lazy as his mind. He pinned some of her curls between his fingers and tugged in acknowledgement. "Do you ever think about what things would be like if this were different?"_ _

__"What do you mean?" There were birds on the far side of the roof, squawking, ruffling their wings, and Mackenzie wondered if they were upset that he and Evan were up here. He laced his fingers with hers and brought their linked hands to his mouth, kissing her knuckles. "I don't want them to be different. I want you to be my sister, to understand me exactly, like you always do."_ _

__"I know, but what if. Hear me out. I sometimes wish…" she raised her free arm to the sky, opening her hand, palm up, like she could grab the very blue and bring it down to them. "That whatever we did. What did we even do? But whatever it was, that Laurel and Dad hadn't ripped our family apart." She paused, lowered her arm. She made a fist and pressed it against her chest._ _

__"What is it? What's the matter?" Because Mackenzie could feel her distress like it was his own, like it had originated in his own brain. He kissed her knuckles again, liingering over each one, like he could drink her pain from her hands and free her from it._ _

__"I have this knot in my chest," Evan explained, still holding her fist over her heart. "It's like, the only time it's not there is when I'm with you."_ _

__"I get it," he said. He glanced up at the sky; the sun curved down slightly towards the horizon. Someone screamed with laughter on the ground, and the birds all yelled and flapped their wings, bursting into the air. Mackenzie watched them. "I get it," he repeated. "I wish we were as free as those birds. And the only time I feel that free is when I'm with you, or kissing you, or inside you."_ _

__"I read this book once," Evan said. Her hair blew into inky black curls in the breeze. "The siblings, they wanted to be together forever." She stopped, as if gathering her courage. But Mackenzie knew her heart as well as his own; she never needed to be afraid to speak in his presence._ _

__"Just tell me," he whispered, as the sun winked brightly off the metal and windows on the surrounding buildings. "You know you could never upset me."_ _

__"Their parents were dead, and so once they could, they went anywhere they wanted. And then eventually, they got married." Evan's voice was soft and filled with yearning. "I wanna be like that with you, Mac. To be someplace where no one knows our names, and we could live together, and kiss out in the open, on street corners and in the supermarket, and not be worried about what people would think."_ _

__In the heat and sunshine, under the near cloudless sky, it sounded like a glimmering daydream. Like a mirage that might turn real if they could just reach hard enough for it._ _

__"I would like to get married. To you. Only to you." Mackenzie felt the cool breeze wash over him, and it made him shiver—or maybe that shiver was from the absolute ideal of being her _husband_ , till death do they part._ _

__Evan's voice was sleepy when she spoke again; he was feeling drowsy himself, but he stared at her features, at the downy soft hair on her arms, the round swell of her breasts where they were slightly flattened by her position on her back._ _

__"I want so many things for us, Mac. Do you think those things could ever happen?"_ _

__"Yeah," he said, petting her hair, holding her hand. He was hard in his jeans, his cock millimeters from her head, but he was so peaceful, and she was so faraway in her thoughts, that nothing like that seemed urgent. It was as if he could be hard for ages, and never have it cause a second thought. "I think we could make them happen."_ _

__"What should we do? How should we do it?" Her eyes shut slowly, her lashes leaving shadows over her cheeks, which were dashed with pink. "Imagine. We could have our own kitchen, and I could wear nothing but an apron…" Her lips tilted up at the corners, mischievous and seductive at once._ _

__"I'll put my briefcase down against the wall," he said, taking up the threads of her fantasy, "and undo the buttons on my pants. And then I'll lift you up, and sit you on the counter, and slide right inside like I was born to be there."_ _

__He was, he thought, as he absorbed all of her beauty—as much as his mind and body could hold—born to be there._ _

__"We were meant to be together," Evan said, making his thoughts reality, saying out loud what they both were thinking. "Three years. In three years…"_ _

__"Fake our deaths," Mackenzie said, and Evan grinned. She reached up and found his face with her fingers, traced his lips._ _

__"That's very dramatic." She didn't sound displeased by the idea. "I'm not sure how we would pull it off."_ _

__"Well, like you said, we have three years to work out the details."_ _

__Evan sat up. Mackenzie wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to sit between his thighs with her back against his chest._ _

__"I can't wait that long." She pushed her curls behind her ears; they tickled his nose and lips. "I bet Jo-Anne knows somebody. Some college kid or dropout who could make us false IDs. We could be out of here—"_ _

__"—maybe in _weeks_ , not years," Mackenzie finished. He could feel a fire kindling in his heart. "I could just lie in bed with you, and hold you."_ _

__"Yeah," Evan said, placing her palms on his denim-clad thighs. "We could fall asleep together again, like we did when we were little."_ _

__"And we wouldn't have to steal time anymore, like we do now, trying to be ninjas at school. We could—like you said—live our lives out in the open."_ _

__"I stole a pair of Laurel's earrings and some money," Evan told him excitedly. "I didn't want to take too much money at once, but if we can figure out when we're leaving, I can just nick George's wallet. He's loaded, the asshole."_ _

__"I took Dad's Rolex," Mackenzie countered, and Evan laughed, gorgeous and free-spirited and bright._ _

__"The conscientious twin is _also_ a thief," she said, and if anyone else had said it, it would have been mocking—but not _her_. She sounded proud. She angled her head to the side and tilted her face up, and Mackenzie kissed her._ _

__As he held her, as they kissed, he could hear the sweet sound of birds singing._ _

__:::_ _

__**Saturday** _ _

__Mackenzie had told Evan he was working on his swing, and at the baseball game that Saturday—that Evan had, for once, begged to attend instead of sneaking out—she could tell he had. He had a fuller rotation to it, and even when he took strikes, he fouled balls off close to the homerun pole._ _

__Evan leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, as Mackenzie came up at bat again, in the top of the ninth. It was a home game, so if the team could make up the one-run deficit they faced, they could win the game without even having to play the bottom of the inning._ _

__The opposing pitcher wound up, turning his hips and body away, and then released: a perfect pitch for hitting even as it was an obvious fuck up from the pitcher. The ball sped towards Mackenzie, in the middle of the plate, knee-high—and Mac swung hard, putting all of his strength into it, and belted the ball._ _

__Even as Evan marveled at his upper body strength, she watched the ball soar towards the back of the field—_ _

__"And it's got a chance… it's going… going… It's gone! Three run homer for Mackenzie Stuart, and the Wildcats win!"_ _

__Evan leapt to her feet and screamed, cheering as loud as she could, as the players mobbed her brother on the field. He was whooping, hands up in the air, as they knocked him down._ _

__Minutes later, he got to his feet again, and as if an invisible steel chain linked them, Mackenzie cut his eyes to the bleachers and found Evan's. His smile was so bright, it hurt to look at._ _

__Next to her, Jo-Anne was still sitting in the stands, sullenly filing her nails. She had been moody and angry since she broke up with that Fucking Boy, but it kept her from wanting to make out with Evan, so Evan hadn't bothered to try to cheer her up._ _

__"This is a waste of time," Jo-Anne said, buffing her thumbnail. "We could be shopping. And it's fucking _hot_ for September, all of a sudden."_ _

__"My brother was a baseball player," Evan told her, annoyed even as she watched Mac run off the field. "He taught me to love the game, and besides, our team won."_ _

__"I'm gonna go find someone _interesting_ ," Jo-Anne said, "because at least baseball players are hot."_ _

__Evan knew that meant, _find someone to fuck_ , but as long as Jo-Anne didn't try to fuck Mackenzie, she didn't really care. She waved a hand absently in her direction, then decided what the hell, that sounded like a good idea._ _

__Five minutes later, Evan and Mackenzie were locked in an embrace behind the gym, holding each other like they were sewn together and kissing like their mouths didn't work unless they were melded to each other's._ _

__Evan sucked at the breath from Mackenzie's lips every time they separated even a little, and their oxygen mingled, and she fancied she was breathing Mac into her lungs._ _

__They might have done that for hours, kissing and making out with their tongues swapping spit in each other's mouths, but then Mackenzie pulled back. He still held her, as if his arms didn't know how to function without being snug around her body, his palms caressing her ass, up and down. He stared into her eyes like he could see the world from them._ _

__Evan felt like the universe was expanding in his. That she could see galaxies born and stars dying and it was all _so much_. It overwhelmed her with a beautiful feeling of oneness—with him, with the world around them, down to the insects crawling in the grass at their feet._ _

__"We have to stop," Mac said, but he could barely bring himself to raise his head; his lips grazed hers when he spoke. "This is very public. It's too easy to get caught."_ _

__"I hate the weekends," Evan mumbled, laying her head on his shoulder. "Too much time apart from you. I need you, Mac. I need you inside me again—soon."_ _

__"Monday," Mackenzie said, combing his fingers through her hair, scritching at her scalp in a wonderfully relaxing way. It almost made the itch to have him in her pussy fade; as it was, it only receded a little. Her thighs were damp; she'd worn no underwear beneath her skirt. Mac didn't slide his hand up underneath it, though; he kept it semi-chastely on the clothed part of her ass. "We have P.E., but let's skip. I'll meet you on the roof, seventh period. God, I love you so much."_ _

__He buried both hands in her hair now, breathing heavily. Like he'd expended more energy loving her than he had hitting that home run—and yet Evan thought he could love her effortlessly. She _knew_ he could, because _she_ did. They were so alike, twins in every possible way._ _

__Finally they pulled apart, hands still reaching, loath to let go. And Mackenzie clutched her fingers for one last second, before he allowed himself to turn away, and Evan felt the loss so keenly it was like that moment, that heart-aching second, when her baby had been sucked away._ _

__As she went to find Meredith, who had driven her—and was the one giving her hands-on driving lessons—Evan realized she didn't think about the baby she'd lost, not as much as she should. The baby she'd killed._ _

__She hurt, a little, inside, but not enough. That lost baby didn't mean as much to her as it probably should have—and knowing it meant that Mackenzie didn't see her again when she was pregnant, a filthy slut, made her think she'd probably do it all over again._ _

__It always hurt more when she had to leave him, when they couldn't just be together, _stay_ together._ _

__She climbed into Meredith's car, and Meredith, still pretending to be her friend, watched her put on her seatbelt and said,_ _

__"Did you have a good time?"_ _

__"Yeah," Evan said, "I did." She hoped Meredith couldn't hear the note of sadness that clung to her words._ _

__An entire day until she could see Mackenzie again. How would she ever survive it?_ _

__:::_ _

__Sunday night, Cory begged Mackenzie to keep under wraps the fact that he was going on a "date," as he called it, but the way he was dressed, Mackenzie wondered just where he was _really_ going._ _

__Still, Cory told his mother that he was going on a date with Jo-Anne—which, after the lunch room scandal, Mackenzie knew was a lie—and didn't apply his eyeliner until he was walking out the back door to keep from running into Shirley where she was sitting in the living room, studying her DSM IV._ _

__Mackenzie wondered if she was trying to give him even more diseases, even as he carefully shut the door quietly behind Cory. Then he darted back to his room, also trying to avoid Shirley, and curled up on his bed._ _

__For some reason, he couldn't sleep. He laid there in bed, and it was almost as if Evan's panties and photo were the pea from that stupid fairy tale. He tossed and turned, and hours slipped by like thieves in the night, and Mackenzie still couldn't drift off._ _

__At around three in the morning, Mackenzie got up to piss and wash his face, hoping the cool water would refresh him and help him be able to sleep. As he wandered back to his bedroom, not quite fully awake but not asleep, he noticed Cory's bedroom door was open, and the window was open, a crisp September breeze fluttering the curtains._ _

__Mackenzie went inside to shut the window, and Cory wasn't in bed._ _

__"Guess his date must have gone pretty well," he murmured to himself, and went back to his own room._ _

__And for some reason, knowing Cory was still out, helped Mackenzie to fall asleep—finally._ _

__He dreamed of wolves that stood on two feet, carrying clubs like baseball bats, and his sister, crying for him in her sleep._ _

__He woke up again, early, and shook off the dream as best he could, then unmade his bed, unzipped the mattress cover, and pulled her panties out. He held them to his nose, not to get off on them or to jerk off, but just to _smell_ her again._ _

__Mackenzie was vaguely aware that he ought to do something, but sleep swiftly stole over him and he knew nothing more until morning._ _

__:::_ _

__When Mackenzie woke up, the sun was slanting into his bedroom, and he realized he was clinging tightly to a scrap of fabric—Evan's panties. He blinked at them for a moment, then shoved them under the disordered covers._ _

__What if Cory had seen them? He quickly popped out of bed and dressed, hid everything incriminating and remade his bed, and then went to the door to listen. By the sun's position in the sky, he was just about to miss breakfast; he waited to see if he could hear Cory and Shirley conversing._ _

__But the house was eerily silent. He knew his dad was asleep, but he couldn't hear his snores from his spot by his bedroom door, and there was no other noise except the echo of the silence. He grabbed his backpack and hurried out into the kitchen. There was a note on the fridge: _Called into work at the hospital._ Shirley had written, _1am_ , at the bottom. So she hadn't been home when Cory got home and—shit, Mackenzie was gonna miss the bus!_ _

__He ran out the door with his hair unbrushed and his shirttails hanging out of his jeans, hoping he had the right books in his backpack, and figuring Cory, whose car was not in the driveway, must have already gone on to school._ _

__:::_ _

__"Don't worry," Evan said breathlessly, "no one saw me come up here." She jumped up and down once, in abandon, glee written in fierce, striking lines across her face, and began to strip out of her clothes. "Live dangerously, Mac, get naked with me."_ _

__Mackenzie wasn't certain that was a good idea, roof or not, but he watched her appreciatively, realizing he'd never gotten to see her fully naked, in daylight, since before they were separated, and _definitely_ not since he fell in love with her. It still seemed strange: not that he was in love with his own sister, but that he _didn't_ find it strange to be in love with his own sister. It just felt natural, like an extension of his breathing—there was a beautiful girl, and he loved her._ _

__"I don't think so," he said, even as she tossed off her skirt and began to unbutton her shirt. She was wearing panties that read _Admit One_ in an image of a ticket, and his eyes tracked her fingers as they slipped the buttons through the holes—feeling himself harden and begin to sweat at the first curves of her breasts that he saw._ _

__"At least show me what you have for me," Evan wheedled, her own line of sight on his straining jeans. She whipped open her shirt, baring medium-size, perfectly round breasts, and Mackenzie couldn't help himself: he gaped at her._ _

__So much beauty, in one indomitable package, and she was _all his_. He couldn't believe his good fortune. He decided to grant her a small boon in repayment of such a wondrous sight, and undid the buttons on his jeans, tugging them down. He watched her, the way her hazel eyes focused on his groin, and his erection practically danced for her._ _

__"Come here," Mackenzie said. Evan paused before she came, stepping out of her panties. Now Mackenzie felt his eyes about to bug out of his head: she was _completely bare_ down below, no hair on her pussy at all. Objectively, he thought he must have known this, but it was different this way: to see it, in all its rosy pink glory, with a sunbeam leaving a streak of gold across her midsection and below. "God, you're incredible," he breathed, as she finally stepped in front of him._ _

__"Feel how wet I am for you," Evan whispered, and, taking his hand, to brought to between her inner thighs, so that he cupped her—and her juices flowed onto his hand. Mackenzie gulped. He used his other hand to bring his cock out of his boxer briefs, and then stroked her lightly with his finger for a moment._ _

__"Do you want to—" But he realized he didn't know what he was asking. She smiled at him, though._ _

__"Lie on your back, Mackenzie, and I'll blow your mind."_ _

__He did as she said, and she spread her legs, lowering herself down until she was straddling him, then she fisted his cock, pulled it towards her gently, and slipped it inside. It felt divine, and then it felt even _better_ , as she sank down, her bottom coming to rest on his thighs, his cock buried in her pussy._ _

__"Oh," he said, as she rocked slightly. He was breathless, too, now, and his head felt like it was expanding dizzily. He watched her, her face and hair wreathed in sunlight, and felt so at peace, so much like everything he'd ever wanted in life had finally come to him—his ship of dreams had sailed into harbor._ _

__"Mac," Evan said, and her eyelids were fluttering; her inner muscles tensed around him. "Just you and me, Mac, forever." She lifted up a little; cool crisp air caressed his wet dick when she moved. When she sank down again, those cooled inches were instantly heated by her body. And oh, God, he was _not_ going to last long—he was going to come—_ _

__"It's up here, Mr. Chester," came the syrupy sweet voice of Evan's obnoxious friend, the only who always tried to steal her away from him. "I saw them go up to the roof, and there's only one thing the kids do up there. They fuck."_ _

__"Language, young lady!" he said tersely, but then. "Although I appreciate the warning. Well, we shall see—!"_ _

__Evan's breasts were pale and milky under the bright whiteness of the sunlight, her black curls falling in streamers, almost like a curtain, her red lips half-parted—he would remember it forever, Mackenzie thought, as the English teacher and Jo-Anne passed through the rusty door and onto the roof. She had never been so beautiful—_ _

__And then there was a gasp, and someone had Evan's arm—it was Jo-Anne—she yanked Evan off, and away, and Mackenzie could only lie there, blinking and gaping, as everything they'd worked for, all of their dreams, shattered into mist. He was pulled roughly to his feet by Mr. Chester, and he was whirled to face the other way; he wasn't even allowed to watch Evan as she got dressed._ _

__"Put your pants on," Mr. Chester said in a voice that was stilted and angry. "And then march your ass right down to the office—both of you!"_ _

__"But not together," Jo-Anne put in, and she hauled on Evan's arm. "You're supposed to belong to _me_ ," Mackenzie heard her say, as she towed Evan along. He was dazed, numb, as he buttoned up his pants and followed._ _

__He could not even begin to fathom what would happen now. His mind was empty except for a long, echoing scream: the sound in his brain that accompanied the feeling in his heart, knowing that Evan was being taken away from him._ _

__:::_ _

__Evan's mind was blank. She felt as if she were in a sort of fugue state, unable to comprehend what was really happening. She sat in the hard plastic chair in the office, on one side of the room, with Mackenzie in a desk chair on the other side of the room._ _

__The chairs had been turned so that they couldn't face each other, but Evan knew that the expression on Mackenzie's face would match her own: unmitigated despair._ _

__She couldn't feel her fingers and toes; she couldn't feel herself breathing anymore. How had this happened? They'd finally found each other again. Evan didn't know what would happen next. She couldn't concentrate on anything. Her clothes felt like they were hanging wrong on her body; her mind felt swollen and thick. The principal hadn't spoken to them much, just told them they were in deep trouble._ _

__But he had no idea, not really. The school still didn't know that they were related. That they were actually twins. Right now, the school thought the worst of their issue was that Mackenzie and Evan had been caught having sex on school property. How much worse would it get, Evan wondered distantly, when they found out the truth?_ _

__She wanted to see Mackenzie's face. She wanted to know what he was thinking. She wanted to bury her face in his shoulder and cry for what they'd lost, what they were losing. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted him, as her elder, to tell her everything was going to be all right, not to worry._ _

__But now… what would happen? Would Laurel leave George, so that she could take Evan away? Would George be willing to move?_ _

__Would George be so thoroughly disgusted by her—so unable to understand her position, her love, her need—that he would refuse to stay with them?_ _

__Their parents had been called; now it was just a waiting game to see how much more horrible her life could get. Evan felt a sudden pain; glancing down, she realized she'd bit her thumbnail down to the quick. It bled onto her skirt when she put her hand down._ _

__"Evan Raleigh Banks?" said the secretary. "Your mom can't make it. But your stepfather said he'll be here in five minutes."_ _

__Evan's fingers curled against her thighs; her fingernails felt sharp against the tender skin. So, not long now. She wanted to continue to drift, so float away; to be able to not think about anything anymore._ _

__It didn't hurt. That was the strange thing. Losing Mackenzie—it didn't hurt. Not yet. But Evan knew it _would_. That it would be unbearable._ _

__She stared at the back of his head, at his blond curls, as the door opened. George stepped through. He was haggard of face, and his eyes were anxious as they lit on her. He sighed, heavily, then strode across the room, reaching for her hand._ _

__"Come on, Evan, let me take you home," he said, and Evan, too numb to be angry, allowed herself to be touched, to be pulled from the chair. "We will—well. Something must be done."_ _

__That sounded ominous, but George didn't know Mackenzie. They'd never met—she was safe for a little while longer, until her mom found out. And how could she not? How would Evan keep this from Laurel?_ _

__"Mr. Banks?" asked the secretary. "Can you just sign this form? Allowing Evan to be removed from school premises. And this one, a release not holding the school responsible for her flagrant behavior."_ _

__George signed them both, with a flourish. And then, just when Evan thought maybe— _maybe_ —she was safe, that Laurel couldn't find out if George didn't know, George stopped in front of Mackenzie._ _

__"What's your name? I wanna know who was debasing my stepdaughter."_ _

__Evan wanted to plead with him, to tell him that it wasn't Mackenzie's fault—she was the whore, remember?! But her throat wouldn't work. And Mackenzie… he didn't speak, at first, still looking as stunned and unmoored as she felt, but the secretary glanced at them._ _

__"Mackenzie Stuart," she said, voice unaffected. "One of the new players on the baseball team."_ _

__Evan could see, with a sudden, spike of bright hope, that George didn't recognize the name. He shook his head._ _

__"Athletes," he said. "Always causing trouble." He held Evan's hand tightly. Too tightly. They walked towards the door._ _

__Evan could feel Mackenzie's despair in the very fabric of his gaze against her back._ _

__:::_ _

__It was Shirley who came to pick Mackenzie up. Like with Evan, she had to sign forms. Her face was pinched, her eyes angry; he knew she hated him, even more now than before._ _

__"Well," she said with a huff as she slammed the car door, "I can't believe this. You were having sex! On school grounds. Are you out of your mind?" There was a long, dreadful pause as Shirley pulled out into traffic and began the drive home._ _

__"And you know what's worse," she said, as the car accelerated—she was driving too fast. She was so discomfited by something that her usual careful, defensive driving habits had deteriorated. "I saw that girl."_ _

__Mackenzie didn't say a word. He already knew it was all over for him. Briefly, he wondered if telling Shirley her son was gay would get him off the hook—but he abandoned the idea because he doubted it would work._ _

__"Tell me, Mackenzie. Tell me that girl was leaving the office for another reason. That you didn't _fuck your own sister!_ "_ _

__The hammer fell. Or maybe it was the sword of Damocles. Either way, Mackenzie felt the fear, the anxiety, burn through him like he'd been lit aflame. He sat, in the car seat, feeling himself turn to ash._ _

__"I love her," he said. There was nothing else to say. "She loves me. We love _each other_ —you can't take that away from us. Whatever you do, you can't take my feelings away."_ _

__That dreadful pause returned, even worse this time. Shirley drove faster, swerving in and out of traffic, causing other cars to beep their horns at her._ _

__She was very ominously silent._ _

__So Mackenzie went on. "We want to be together. We _should_ be together. It's only right."_ _

__"No," Shirley said, her voice deceptively quiet now. "That's not the way things work, Mackenzie. You cannot _be with_ your twin sister. That's incest, and it's wrong. It's sick, and it's so very, very wrong."_ _

__"It isn't!" he yelled mutinously. "Love is never wrong!"_ _

__"We're going straight to the hospital," Shirley said, "and I'm going to find out if Dr. Forbes can see you right away. You need help, Mackenzie, much more help than I am able to give you, and—"_ _

__"It's _her_ fault," Mackenzie spat. "That fucking bitch doctor gave me the idea in the first place."_ _

__"I'm sure that's not true." They were pulling into the parking lot; Shirley swiped her work badge so they wouldn't have to pay for parking. She found a spot and shut the car off, then wiped her hands over her face. "We will get you help," she said._ _

__But before she could unfasten her seatbelt, her cell phone rang. Mackenzie recognized the ringtone as the one she used for his father._ _

__He thought about throwing the car door open and running, as fast and as far as he could—but he'd never get back to Evan that way._ _

__Just before Shirley answered the phone, she met Mackenzie's eyes._ _

__"I won't tell him. Not yet. You will see Dr. Forbes, we will straighten this out—it would break his heart to know his children had done this."_ _

__Maybe it was supposed to be a mercy, but Mackenzie couldn't see through the red fringe of anger covering his eyes. She had all the nerve—! She had sent him to that _fucked up_ doctor in the first place; now she wanted to blame Mackenzie for what had happened?_ _

__No; he loved his sister, and they _deserved_ to be together. None of this would have ever happened if they hadn't been torn from each other three years ago, anyway._ _

__With a shock, as Shirley said, "Hello?", Mackenzie realized he was crying. His nose was dripping._ _

__He was almost too lost in his own misery to see Shirley's face lose all color. She went bleached-bone white, and her fingers shook where they held the phone casing; she was squeezing it so hard he thought it might crack._ _

__"W-what do you mean? He didn't come home? He wasn't at school? Where _is_ he?!" she was saying almost hysterically, and that was when Mackenzie remembered Cory. He watched, distantly, as Shirley said something else, then disconnected the call._ _

__Shirley put the phone down. Her eyes were dry, but she looked suddenly brittle._ _

__"You know what," she said, almost as if to herself, "this will have to wait. Mackenzie, I'm sorry, but I can't deal with your mental health when my son is missing."_ _

__Mackenzie's couldn't bring himself to say anything. It was much better if he allowed himself to fade into the wallpaper of her day, to be unremarkable now that something had taken her mind off him and Evan._ _

__"We're going home. I'll… I'll deal with you later." She started the car. She didn't speak to him again; her face retained that lost-all-color look and her lips trembled. Mackenzie didn't know where Cory was—but he bet Shirley would be distracted enough now that maybe Mackenzie's infraction would go unpunished._ _

__If Evan's stepfather didn't know who he was, and Shirley was too upset about Cory to remember, then maybe they still had a chance. Mackenzie thought about the Rolex he'd stolen, and the money and jewelry that Evan had taken._ _

__All they needed was a chance, one shot, and they could leave this behind. Just because Shirley knew about them—that didn't mean it was over._ _

__And Mackenzie knew it would _never_ be over, not really. He couldn't stop loving his twin sister—like a lover—if he cut out his own heart._ _

__:::_ _

__Shirley sat, in tomb-like silence, on the couch later that night, at home. Mackenzie was perched on the sofa on the other side of the room, embarrassed and anxious but unable to leave—his father had said they were going to try to find Cory, and he thought Mackenzie could help._ _

___But I can't,_ Mackenzie thought. _I only know what he told me.__ _

__"Tell me again, Mac," Jacob said patiently. He'd probably be less patient if he knew about Evan and Mackenzie, but Shirley had been too distraught to say anything to him about it. She'd driven them home almost unaware of everything, and more than once Mackenzie had to point out oncoming traffic or stop lights. "What did Cory say to you before he went out Sunday night?"_ _

__"He said he had a date with Jo-Anne," Mackenzie repeated. "That's all I know." But that was a lie; of course Mackenzie knew that Jo-Anne was a cover story. He drew up some belated courage and added, "but he went out the back door so Shirley wouldn't see him."_ _

__Shirley, hearing her name, looked up sharply. She broke her silence to say,_ _

__"But why would he avoid me? He knows I don't mind if he dates." Her eyes were dry—now. But she'd cried a torrent of tears when they were calling the police, and when the police told them that he couldn't be listed as missing until he'd been gone at least twenty-four hours. _It's the law, ma'am. Sometimes teenagers just run away.__ _

__The worst part was that Mackenzie wasn't sure Cory _hadn't_ run away. Maybe being gay in the house with his mother had grown so intolerable that he couldn't stand it anymore, and he'd taken off._ _

__His PS4 was still in his room, a game left in it. But that didn't necessarily mean anything. Why would he take a gaming system if he might end up on the streets? He'd have no use for it, unless he used it to get money._ _

__"He… wore eyeliner," Mackenzie said carefully, looking someplace past her eyes. He couldn't meet them; he wasn't telling them everything he knew._ _

__"But—a boy?" Shirley sounded surprised; Jacob's eyebrows went up._ _

__"Mackenzie, did you see your stepbrother at school today?" asked Jacob, putting a hand on Shirley's shoulder and rubbing it. But he looked uncomfortable, as if he were only doing it because he thought it was expected of him—not because he really felt the urge to comfort._ _

__"No," he answered. "I didn't see him this morning, either. I was late—I almost missed the bus. Cory was already gone."_ _

__Jacob's eyes narrowed; his brow furrowed a little. He was thinking—Mackenzie was afraid that sleepy dispassion, that slight detachment from the world, was going to lift, however briefly. His father didn't often apply himself in his personal relationships, but when he did—he was a smart guy. He'd gone to MIT. He would see through Mackenzie in an instant and—_ _

__"I need you to tell me everything. Did you see, or hear from, or talk to you, Cory Sunday night after he went out?"_ _

__"How could I? I don't have a cell phone!" Mackenzie blurted. Shirley's shoulders quivered a little; she made a small squeak. He stared away from her as much he could, at the wall behind her, where there was an ink spot on the paint._ _

__"Did you see him come home?" Jacob asked. He was starting to sound like the police._ _

__"No," Mackenzie said. "I was having trouble sleeping. I thought something seemed wrong, but I didn't know what. And I didn't hear him at all—but then I fell asleep. When I woke up, it was morning, and Cory's window was open. I closed it. He wasn't in his room, so I thought he'd gone to school—his car was missing. Then I ran to make the bus."_ _

__"He didn't come home all night," Shirley whispered. She was red in the face but her fingers were pale. "Why wouldn't he come home?" She'd barely uttered the words when there was a knock on the door._ _

__Forgotten, Mackenzie sat in absolute, still silence, like a corpse, as Jacob opened the door._ _

__"Are you the father of Cory Stuart?" asked a tall, thin, greying policeman. He looked grim, and his uniform was too tight and too pressed. Mackenzie didn't want to be anywhere near him._ _

__"I'm his stepfather. This—" Jacob walked over, helped Shirley out of the chair, "—is his mother."_ _

__"I'm terribly sorry, ma'am," the officer said in a gloomy tone. "We found a young man with the license bearing your son's name—"_ _

__"You found him? Oh thank goodness, where is he?" Shirley was vibrating with energy suddenly, and Mackenzie thought, _now who's manic?__ _

__"No, I'm sorry. We found the young man's body. He's been beaten pretty badly. He was discovered in the back alley behind the Rainbow Club, a pretty notorious gay haunt. Problem is, the gays that go there don't always make it home. Those boys who dislike that sorta thing tend to find 'em and make 'em pay for it."_ _

__"My son isn't gay, so there must be some mistake," Shirley said. Her body shook and her legs wobbled; Jacob barely noticed. Shirley slumped to the floor, though, as the cop's news began to sink in. "It's not possible," she whispered._ _

__"It may not be your son," the officer said. "But we'll need you to come down and ID the body, if you can. His face is swollen, but recognizable. He resembles the man in the driver's license."_ _

__"No," Shirley said. Mackenzie watched her crumble. " _No._ "_ _

__"Should we follow you down there?" Jacob asked. His voice was faint, thready. Mackenzie could see he was upset—but Shirley was just sitting on her knees, white and shivering; she was breaking apart._ _

__"My son isn't gay," she repeated. "He wouldn't be there. No. He was on a date with a girl. He said so. Cory doesn't… he doesn't… li—" she stopped there suddenly, and the tears flowed like rain, but soft and silent. Mackenzie drew up his legs under him on the couch._ _

__If they left… if they went to the police station or wherever to ID Cory… then Mackenzie might get out of this. Shirley hadn't told Jacob, and she wasn't likely to now, not now that she was preoccupied with Cory's fate. Mackenzie tried as best he could to render himself invisible._ _

__Just a few more minutes, and he could fucking bolt out that door, take off, find Evan, and never fucking come back._ _

__:::_ _

__Evan sat by the stairs, ears pricked, as Laurel returned from a shopping trip. Meredith had already gone into the spacious living room, and Evan was out of sight even as Meredith was out of earshot of Laurel and George._ _

__What would George tell her mother? He hadn't spoken to Evan the whole way home; he'd just stared grimly ahead, hands fisting the steering wheel tightly. When they'd arrived home, he'd said with a curt,_ _

__"Go to your room. I'll be up to talk to you later."_ _

__Evan knew it would be George, too; Laurel would never have the proper _gravitas_ to do it. Evan sighed, twisting her fingers together in agitation. What would he have to say? Would be remember Mackenzie's name?_ _

__"Listen, my darling, we have a situation. I'm afraid your daughter has finally gone past the pale. She's out of control. A teacher caught her today, engaging in sexual intercourse on the school roof."_ _

__Evan's lips pinched. She hadn't been _caught_ so much as _ratted out_ by someone who was supposed to be her friend! Admittedly, she probably hadn't treated Jo-Anne all that well, but that didn't excuse the bitch—being a bitch was an ingrained personality trait._ _

__"She's just acting out, George. I'm sure it'll all work itself out—"_ _

__"This is the last straw," George said, sounding definitely furious. "I think we've done everything we can. She's suspended from school, and I think we should just pull her from that school. There are boarding schools in New England that might straighten her out—"_ _

__"That's so far away," Laurel said, "but if you think it's best…"_ _

__Evan scowled. Of course! Her bitch of a mother never even wanted her, of course she didn't really care if George sent her away. New England was so far from here it might as well be on Mars. How would she ever get back to Mackenzie? And then, George went on,_ _

__"The boy had a face I almost recognized. His name struck a chord, too. Does Mackenzie Stuart mean anything to you, my darling?"_ _

__Evan heard a small shriek and a loud thump. It sounded as if Laurel had lost her balance and fallen. Fuck! He'd fucking told her!_ _

__Evan gave up on eavesdropping and ran on light feet down the hall. She had to get to George's wallet, clean him out, and get out of here as soon as they went to bed. The library was open late on Mondays, and all she had to do was cross the baseball field as a shortcut to get there._ _

__Then she could email Mackenzie. Maybe she could call Jo-Anne and convince her to let Evan sleep over. She'd even put out, if it gave her a chance to meet up with Mackenzie soon. She just had to hide for awhile—and hope he checked his email quickly._ _

__But she knew, deep in her heart, he would; he would know, just from their special bond, that Evan needed him. And she needed him more than ever, she thought, as she counted a ream of bills from George's wallet._ _

__Stuffing the bills in her pocket, she tiptoed back to her room, remembering suddenly that George was going to come and probably read her the Riot Act. She had to get the fuck out of there, and quick. On her way past the staircase, she heard Laurel say,_ _

__"—why we separated them, they seemed unnaturally close—"_ _

__Well, what the fuck did she know, anyway? Evan hadn't wanted to fuck Mackenzie until _after_ their parents had fucking torn them apart—as if separating them could somehow break the special bond that they had, as twins._ _

__And then George:_ _

__"I've sent her to her room. I was going to speak to her tonight, but no. I think I'll let her reflect on it till morning. Then we can decide what school—"_ _

__He meant let her stew about it—as if she was ever going to feel guilty! Nothing was ever going to entrap her into feeling bad about Mac, or what they shared, or fucking him. Nothing! Evan stopped listening and bolted the rest of the way to her bedroom. He was going to go to bed, then, soon. But still—_ _

__Without a moment to lose, sure that George was going to start up the steps at any time, heading for bed, Evan hastily climbed down the rose trellis—thank fuck he'd never removed it. A sudden thought struck her: this meant she'd never have a dog. George said she had to behave—and running away for good was pretty much the definition of "not behaving."_ _

__But, she consoled herself as she ran across the lawn, turning a deep green in the twilight, she and Mackenzie could always adopt one together, once they were settled—and it was better that way anyway._ _

__Evan kept running. She was halfway to the library and about a block away from the baseball field when she realized: oh, _shit_ , she'd forgotten the rest of the money and the earrings._ _

__:::_ _

__Mackenzie knew he should feel bad about Cory—but he couldn't concentrate on that—all he could think about was Evan, and getting to her. He had their father's Rolex, and he had his baseball bat, just in case Jacob and Shirley came back to the house early and found him gone, they might think he was practicing his swing._ _

__It was a flimsy excuse, one that Mackenzie knew didn't make much sense, but his mind was cluttered with moths, and he hadn't been really thinking that carefully. He'd just grabbed the bat and run out the door as soon as the car pulled away, with Jacob driving. Shirley had gone to pieces, and the purple edges of her hair had looked so stupid when she was crying about her son being murdered._ _

__Mackenzie had the fleeting and unwanted thought that maybe he was a really bad person—and maybe now _Shirley_ would need therapy, and she'd know what it was like—but he shoved it to the back of his mind. He half-thought about going to the library to check his email, in case Evan tried to contact him, but he was sprinting down the baseball field when he saw her._ _

__She was bent over, clearly catching her breath, waves of long dark curls spinning out in the breeze. He knew who it was: Evan, the other half of his soul. His soulmate in every sense of the word._ _

__He'd known it was her before he even got close, because he could sense her, her fear, her anxiety, her desperation. He could sense the way her heart beat too fast. He sped up, coming to a frantic halt in front of her and grabbing her, wrapping her into his arms. Evan did not scream or struggle, she simply said,_ _

__"Oh my God, Mac, it's you, thank God," and hurled herself tighter against him. He held her for a moment, then gently pushed her back._ _

__"What's going on? Are you okay? Evan?" He brushed wisps of hair out of her face, kissed her lips quickly, feeling the way they were cold from the night air; he held her a little longer, rubbing her lips with his thumb until they warmed._ _

__"Mac—" Evan studied his eyes, her own worried. "George is such a dick! He didn't just tell Laurel about me—he told her about you. He said your name! Now Laurel knows… about _us_... we're not safe." Her eyes had widened as she spoke, growing even more and more panicked. Mackenzie touched her cheek; there were tears on it, sparkling in the moonlight._ _

__"It's okay now, Glimmer. We're together. Nothing can stop us now."_ _

__"Wait, Mac, there's one more thing—I forgot the money and the earrings. We have to go back. I just—"_ _

__"Are you sure?" He caressed her jaw, her lips. She was so achingly beautiful—and he loved her so much. Her words began to sink in, like little barbs into his brain. "You said your asshole stepfather told Laurel about us?"_ _

__"Yeah," Evan replied, "what will we do?"_ _

__"My stepbrother's been murdered," Mackenzie said, as a cloud covered the moon briefly, "and so Shirley didn't tell Dad yet about us. She knows the truth—but will she remembered it after that news? I doubt it'll come back to her for a long time. Long enough for us to catch a bus and get the fuck out of here. But your stepfather… and Laurel… they can't tell anyone. C'mon—we'll get the money and stuff. Leave things to me, Evan, I'll make sure we're safe."_ _

__"What are you going to do?" Evan clutched at his shoulders. "What will we do, Mac?"_ _

__"We're never gonna be separated," he told her firmly, shouldering his bat. "Never. Let's go, Ev. Wait—one more kiss first."_ _

__It felt like he kissed her long enough for mountains to rise and fall; for rivers to dry up; for the moon itself to turn into nothing but dull rock as the sun burned out of the sky._ _

__That was what her lips felt like, too: like the sun burning out of the sky, and the inside of her mouth scorched his tongue with her perfect beauty and heat, like she'd _swallowed_ the sun._ _

__And then, he let her go, and they linked hands. They started running—hand-in-hand, they made straight for Evan's house, and their destiny: the right to shape their own future._ _

__:::_ _

__The house was dark when they got there, and all the cars—including Meredith's—were accounted for._ _

__"Meredith is home, shit," Evan hissed into Mackenzie's ear. He squeezed her fingers in reassurance. Evan glanced at him quickly, then began to lead him around the back of the house. Mackenzie felt almost jealous—the house was enormous, the lawn well-kept—but the envy passed and morphed into gladness that Evan had had that life, even if he knew how much she had missed him._ _

__"When we're gone," Mackenzie murmured to her, his voice muted by the sound of the bushes and trees rustling in the wind, "I'm gonna take you to a motel, and I'm gonna fuck you."_ _

__"How will we pay for it? We're minors," Evan said worriedly. Mackenzie tightened his fingers on hers again. "I wanna try for a baby, Mac. Be a real family."_ _

__The idea warmed Mackenzie from the inside out. He pulled her to a halt and kissed her forehead. He could just imagine a little girl with black curls—and the thought delighted him. He would do anything—he would do _whatever it took_ —to make their dreams come true. After the shit life they'd had the past three years, they deserved to be happy. Together._ _

__"I'd like that," he whispered against her forehead. "Which room is theirs?"_ _

__"Mine first," Evan replied softly. "The rose trellis leads right up to the window. We can get in that way—it's how I left."_ _

__Mackenzie hoped that no one had gone in her room and locked the window. He followed her to the trellis, then she began to climb, and Mackenzie enjoyed the view of her ass beneath her skirt as she climbed; once she had thrown her legs over the sill, he passed his bat up to her and followed her in._ _

__Once inside her room, he sat carefully on the bed while Evan yanked a lockbox out rom beneath it. She took a key out of her jewelry tray and unlocked it, removing diamond earrings and some money. The longer he sat there, though, the more a viciousness took root and grew inside his soul. Her fucking stepfather could destroy all their dreams, take everything away he'd ever wanted. He could call the police. Mackenzie could lose Evan forever—and he'd promised, hadn't he? Told her everything would work out okay?_ _

__Hadn't he said he'd take care of things? He glanced at the baseball bat lying on her pink-and-white carpet. He'd not known why he brought it, not before, but now… now an idea was brewing, and as soon as Evan stood up, Mackenzie got to his feet as well, and pulled her close to him._ _

__"I have to do this now, in case anything goes wrong," he said, and kissed her. This had to be a kiss that lasted for the ages—and Mackenzie put every ounce of everything he felt into it, and he knew that Evan could feel it too._ _

__As they kissed, rocking slowly in each other's arms, it was like the room was spinning, spinning, spinning in a beautiful cacophony of colors, everyone and everything excluded but themselves. And Mackenzie—he had to keep her in his arms forever—he knew what he had to do._ _

__:::_ _

__Evan didn't need to ask Mac what he was doing; no, she knew what was happening as his kiss finally faded away, and they listed apart, Mac holding her up, her knees were so weak._ _

__He clutched her hand—she felt all of his desperation, and his love, communicated to her through it—and he went unerringly down the hall, to the master bedroom. The jewelry, the money, it was stuffed in his pockets—Evan had done that while they were making out as if the world were coming to an end around them._ _

__Mac had his baseball bat in his hands, and Evan knew he'd been working on his swing. There was only one way things could go, now. She halted him by their door, and his eyes glittered in the low light._ _

__"Are you sure?" she asked him, one last time. Mackenzie nodded; there was a fire burning there. He wasn't just sure—he was _determined_. He pushed open the door soundlessly._ _

__Laurel lay cuddled up to George, her fingers entangled in his hair. Oddly—or maybe not so much—Evan felt nothing, looking down at her. Not even disgust, really, just a blank nothingness that permeated. She felt wrapped in cotton—but it was Mac's love that made her feel that way, she was sure._ _

__She never let go of his hand. She never took her eyes off George or their mother, not even when Mackenzie's face twisted, and his eyes shot fire, and Evan saw that in her periphery and oh _fuck_ , he had never been so beautiful—her panties were wet—Mackenzie brought the bat down, again and again, onto their heads. Laurel made a pained gasp as the bat grazed her skull, even though George made no sound at all. The bat came down so hard—his swing was utterly fucking perfect—and George's skull cracked open like a melon with the fruit spilling out. Blood flecked Mac's clothes—and some got on Evan, too._ _

__She was panting, hyperventilating, making more noise than she should; Laurel's eyes were open; she fixed them on Evan and then—_ _

__The bat came down a final time with a dull "thunk" against Laurel's face, splitting her features apart. Her eyes went blank—one of them popped out of the socket. Evan was breathing so hard—her legs were dripping with slick—she had to fuck him, and soon._ _

__"Okay," Mackenzie said, "okay. Now we'll be okay." He pulled her towards him and she twirled into his embrace. He kissed her; he tasted of exertion and triumph. He dropped the bat._ _

__Evan didn't even know what was happening anymore; they were in her room again before she blinked—at least, that's what it felt like. And then they heard it together: footsteps._ _

___Meredith._ They had to—_ _

__Evan dropped onto the ground, still feeling time moving oozily; one moment she was hyper-aware of everything, and the next things seemed to be clouded until suddenly everything focused, like a rubber band snapping into place._ _

__Mackenzie was running, and she was following, and they heard the scream—it went on and on._ _

__"The car!" Evan gasped, feeling a stitch growing in her side. "Meredith's car!"_ _

__"I don't know how to hotwire a car," Mackenzie panted back to her. But Evan clenched his fingers until he paused._ _

__"I do," she said, consequences of her misspent youth. She stopped him, by the car, and waited as he broke the window and opened the door. "Let me drive," she said, and Mackenzie nodded._ _

__But things… things did not happen the way she planned. The car wouldn't start. Mackenzie suddenly bent over and heaved, as if he'd finally comprehended what he'd done._ _

__And the sirens flowed down the street like a beacon, as if drawing Evan toward them. She knew that Mac was guilty of murder—that she was an accessory. She tried to hurry, but her hands were sweaty and her fingers slipped, over and over, and the glass cut her ass as she shifted on the seat._ _

__There was plenty of blood on Mackenzie, too. He was breathing so hard, like he'd just run the bases for an inside-the-park homerun, and yet—_ _

__The police car screamed into the driveway._ _

__"Stop right there!" an officer yelled, pointing a gun; the moon had been unveiled by the clouds, and the blood shone on Mackenzie like a sign written _guilty_._ _

__Evan just…. Stopped. She cried—and Mackenzie was forced to the ground, his face squished into the dirt. Maybe she passed out, but Evan had no idea what happened next._ _

__:::_ _

__The trial was short, the jury deliberation even shorter. Evan was found guilty of accessory to murder, and Mackenzie two counts of first degree murder. Their counsel had tried to argue that it was a passionate crime, that only second degree was warranted, but the jury had heard the sordid tale of their incest with such revulsion, nothing their lawyer said mattered._ _

__Evan rocked back and forth against the wall of her cell. She couldn't understand those looks they'd gotten from the jurors. They hadn't done anything wrong—everything they'd done had been so important, so necessary. Their "incest" wasn't gross—it was the purest love they could hope to have._ _

__But Evan had long forgotten most of that. She was alone now. Mackenzie was in a different prison, and her heart was shredded into what felt like ribbons of pain. She was never really conscious of anything anymore, except the hard, loud thumping of her heart: it repeated _Mackenzie, Mackenzie, Mackenzie_ , over and over and over again._ _

__Pausing in her rocking, Evan found the shiv she'd fashioned from a toothbrush. She ran it up and down her arms, until sparkling red jewels decorated them, like beauty and magic from a fairy tale._ _

__And she kept rocking, rocking, murmuring to herself, as the shiny red gems dripped weirdly onto the floor._ _

__:::_ _

__Shirley came to visit Mackenzie only once. Jacob didn't even bother to come along._ _

__"You monster," she had hurled through the bars, tone laced with vitriol. "You tortured my son. You're the reason he's dead. I took _care_ of you, I fed you—look what you did. I hope you rot there forever. And with the knowledge that you'll never, ever, see your precious sister again."_ _

__Mackenzie didn't look at her. He barely heard her words. In his mind, there was an announcer calling out the runs that had been scored—in his heart, Evan had been scored into it like a wound that would never heal. He felt her shock, her distance from everything around her, her insulation. He felt her pain._ _

__"Do you know," he asked, not even really sure who he was speaking to, "where my baseball bat is? How can I play, if I don't have it?"_ _

__And then he remembered. It was in the front hall closet. All he had to do was wait, and he'd find Evan again._ _

__He closed his eyes on the cool cement floor. She was in his soul. She was the neurons firing that caused his heart to beat. He knew that everything was temporary, now._ _

__Other prisoners jeered and shouted and screamed, but Mackenzie was calm._ _

__Without opening his eyes, he said,_ _

__"They had to die, They had to die. They had to."_ _

__He never noticed when Shirley left, but it was okay. He just counted his breaths and let them lead him back to Evan. She was fading away, though, and the sound of the crack of a bat echoed in his brain._ _

__What had happened? Had he loved her at all? Had he kissed her so generously?_ _

__A faint click intruded. A screech as the dinner tray was shoved in. And Mackenzie's eyes snapped open, and he _felt_ it, finally, for the first time—in all that time, it hadn't been _real_ , he hadn't known, couldn't feel a fucking thing—but now it slammed down on him like a baseball bat rattling his skull._ _

__He was alone! They were apart—never again would he touch her, or kiss her, or love her._ _

__His mouth opened, and that night, in the prison, all that could be heard was his screaming, until he screamed himself hoarse, until he fell back onto the floor, exhausted, with only one thing left in his brain._ _

__Evan._ _

__THE END._ _

**Author's Note:**

> This book also contains violence and murder and a tragic, unhappy ending.


End file.
